


First Time for Everything

by Persiago



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Gay Panic, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, mentions of mental issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23827435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiago/pseuds/Persiago
Summary: It's love at first sight, when Dean meets Cas in a local homeless shelter, where the latter man works. Dean's father has passed away, and something about the blue-eyed man's kindness makes Dean unable to just forget about him. It's love at first sight, even if they don't know it yet for a long time.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 126





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Dean meets Castiel is at a local shelter for homeless people. 

Dean enters the shabby-looking lobby, looking just as lost as he’s feeling, two fully stuffed boxes precariously balanced in his arms. There’s a dark-haired man sitting behind a worn-down desk, eyeing him curiously, pencil in his other hand and a calculator in the other. 

“Can I help you?” He asks, voice deep and friendly. 

“Yeah, uh, I got all this stuff I wanna donate to the shelter?” Dean explains, feeling very misplaced. He’s not used to doing this. The man gives him a small, encouraging smile, and his blue eyes draw Dean in, unable to look away. 

“That’s very kind of you.” His praise makes Dean uncomfortable and he clears his throat, breaking the eye contact.

“I got clothes, shoes, bed sheets, uh, towels… some other stuff too, can’t remember what, though. I got few more boxes in my car too, if you need this sort of shit- I mean items.” His slip-up makes the dark-haired man laugh, making his eyes crinkle up. Dean decides he likes the guy. 

“Yes. We take all sorts of donations, and all of the basic necessities are very much needed here. You can leave those boxes here, and I can come help and carry rest of the stuff inside.” 

The man gets up and follows Dean outside. The weather is gray, the kind of chill in the air that tells they might get the first snow any day now. Dean leads him to his car, and the man stops abruptly to appreciatively sweep his eyes over the sleek form of the Impala. 

“This is yours?” He says, clearly impressed. Dean can’t help the rush of pride that courses through him. He smiles at the man. 

“Yeah. You know about classic cars?” 

The man shakes his head, looking almost apologetic. 

“Unfortunately, no. But you seem to have cared for her well.” _Her._ He gets it. There’s a swirl of some unknown emotion stirring inside of Dean, and he has to look away to keep it from spilling out. 

“She’s very special,” he answers curtly, and if the other man can hear the slight crack in his voice, he doesn’t comment on it. Dean quickly distracts himself by fishing out the keys from his pocket and opening the trunk. He hands the man couple of the bigger boxes, which he grabs readily, juggling them like they weigh nothing. He piles up the last remaining boxes and closes the trunk, following closely behind. The man has a lean figure, muscled shoulders and thighs that have to be a result of a very strict gym routine. Not what he typically expects of a shelter employee. _Stop your fucking ogling, Dean Winchester,_ he mentally reprimands himself, feeling the pit of shame deepen inside his chest.

They stack the boxes in front of the desk, and the emptiness, the finality of it, hits Dean out of nowhere, ice cold and painful. He stares at the boxes, feeling nausea creep upwards his throat, suffocating him. _I can’t give up this stuff. It’s all I have left._

A sudden touch on his forearm snaps him out of it. The blue-eyed man is still beside him, offering him a soft smile, a lifeline that Dean grabs hold of like a drowning man, and the words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop himself. 

“My dad died. And this is everything that used to be him, his whole life. I-”, he has to stop there. He takes a breath, and another. The pounding of his heart eases a little. The man steps closer, looking like wants to touch him again. Dean draws back in an automatic response, fixating on a half-opened box, where an old, familiar plaid shirt is peeking out. 

“My condolences,” the he says quietly, retreating back, and Dean can feel the man studying him carefully. Yeah. Condolences and well-wishes have done jackshit for him. He’s heard them countless times. _“Dean, I’m so sorry for your loss. It’s been a long time coming, but who would’ve expected it like this?”_ Yeah, his dad was old drunk who fucked up his head with booze and all it got him was a stroke and some vicious hemorrhaging. But he was still Dean’s dad. 

“Thanks,” he mutters. Now his sudden outburst just feels embarrassing. Dean knows what’s coming next, the delicately composed questions of how his dad died and how is he holding up. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and mentally prepares to make his escape, already coming up with some excuse, before he can humiliate himself further. Instead, the man holds out his hand. Dean stares at it for few beats, not sure what do make of the sudden gesture. 

“I’m Castiel.” Dean flicks his eyes to watch the man, to see any traces of fake sympathy or pity on his face. Castiel looks back, earnest. His eyes have a very expressive quality about them, the kind of unguarded purity that Dean can’t help but to admire. He extends his hand and grips Castiel’s hand. His handshake is firm and rough, calluses standing out on his palms.

“Dean.” Castiel gives him a half-smile, eyes squinting curiously.

“Would you like a cup of coffee, Dean?” 

And for whatever reason, Dean can’t come up with a single excuse not to.

x

Talking with Castiel turns out to be both interesting and easy. He listens to every word Dean says with meticulous attention, asking him questions and sharing his own experiences humbly. They talk about nothing and everything, conversation flowing easily between them. Dean learns that Castiel’s one of the hired workers in the shelter, managing the everyday-life there. He’s also a skilled carpenter and a poet. He rarely watches tv, so he hasn’t seen any of the western classics Dean’s enthusiastic about, but he has passionate opinions about classic books. Dean lets him speak and pretends to know what he talks about. In return, Dean tells him about his job as a mechanic and how he’s practically restored his beloved car almost single-handedly. He leaves the part out about how his dad left it to him, and the part how dad had crashed it once, drunk as hell. He tells about Sam and his studies to become a lawyer, and how they used to take road trips throughout the country together. 

Dean’s heart feels lighter by the time they refill their cups the third time. There’s something about Castiel that makes him lose awareness of his surroundings and the track of time, and they’ve been talking for awhile. There’s a comfortable lull in the conversation, and Dean figures he’s taken enough of Castiel’s time already. He’s reluctant to leave, but he can’t expect the other man to listen endlessly about his boring life, dead father or not. Maybe he can get some other stuff to drop off at the shelter. Maybe he’ll run into Castiel again. He finishes the coffee and shifts in his seat to get up. 

“I think I should be getting back, it’s getting kinda late.” Dean must imagine the slight disappointment in Castiel’s face, because he’s all gummy smiles the next second.

“You might be right. I’m not being paid to drink coffee and talk with strangers, no matter how pleasant.”

“Yeah, thanks for the coffee and you know, the talking. It’s really nice to do that, once in a while.” He stands up, shuffles awkwardly, wondering how to make his exit. Castiel looks at him, smile fading and Dean can see he’s thinking, face all serious. 

“Dean, for what’s it worth, I am really sorry about your father. And sometimes talking makes it just a little better. So, uh...if you ever want to talk…” he procures a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket, writes something on it. “Here’s my number. I would enjoy talking with you again.” 

Dean accepts the piece of paper with a thanks and a smile and folds it very carefully into his wallet. 

x

Entering his father’s house the second time doesn’t make it any easier. The familiar smells of old wood, dust and grease are all there, etched into the tapestries and creaky plank floors. The kitchen reeks of hard liquor. Underneath all that, a lingering odor of death. It’s hard to get it out of your nostrils. 

The place was never a real home for either Dean and Sam, but it holds memories, good and bad. It was just a house where their dad settled after he got tired of running. 

He sets the empty cardboard boxes on the floor, starts emptying the contents of the cupboards into them mechanically, not registering anything that he touches. Everything needs to go. Sam doesn’t want anything from the house, although he asked several times if Dean wanted help with the sorting and the packing. But Dean refused, it’s a long trip and Sam’s busy with his studies, why waste the trip when Dean can handle this by himself, right? _“Tell me if you want any help arranging the funeral at least. I mean anything.”_ Sam had pleaded over the phone, but Dean told him not worry about it. _“I’m not worried about the funeral, Dean. I’m worried about you.”_ _“Don’t be. I’m fine.”_

But he’s not fine. He feels like he’s drifting, anchorless. There’s nothing holding him down anymore, nothing keeping him here. He could leave now, but it doesn’t feel like freedom. He feels heavier than stone, every tiny movement of his muscles costing him more than he can spare. Sam was the smart one. He got out of town, got himself a respectable life, away from Dean and their dad. He used to beg for Dean to come with him too, but he had refused, every time. Someone had to look after dad. They’ve fought about it too. Big, ugly fights. Sam had accused him of being too scared to get out of his father’s shadow, to make his own decisions and stop drowning himself in their father’s misery. Maybe he was right. But Dean couldn’t leave family behind. _“I’m worried that you’re gonna end up like dad!”_ That one had hurt. He had punched Sam and that was the end of that.

Dean walks past the living room several times before he can enter it. The smell of death is stronger there. Everything is exactly how dad left it. Half-drank beer bottles on the table. An old leather couch, the worn-down covering, imprints visible on the brown skin. TV in the corner. He spots his leather jacket on the backrest of an armchair. He thought he had lost it. Dean suddenly remembers; it was the last time he had visited dad. They’ve sat in the living room and watched the game. Nothing special. Dad had been in a okay mood, commenting the game often, chugging down whiskey like it was nothing. Then a call had came from Bobby, asking Dean to come to work for few hours, as they needed and extra pair of hands, so he rushed off in the middle of the game, leaving his jacket behind. And that was that. He never even got to say goodbye.

He almost makes it. But not quite. Dean blindly walks to the kitchen, breaks every unpacked plate and glass he can find, smashes them against the walls, shards flying everywhere. And when he runs out of breakable kitchen supplies to destroy, he breaks apart the chairs. The kitchen looks a like warzone by the time he’s done. And still, he doesn’t feel any better. Dean sinks down on the floor, amidst the splinters and the broken shards, absentmindedly wiping the wetness on his cheeks. He just feels empty. 

Dean doesn’t know how long he sits there. There are minor cuts in his hands and arms, leaving smudges of red everywhere. He never wants to get up from this floor. He’s fucking winded. And then he remembers the small piece of paper in his wallet. He wipes his hands, takes the paper out, unfolds it. Stares at the phone number, hastily written on the paper. He’s got nothing to lose. 

**Hey. Are you busy? I could use someone to talk to right now,** he types, hesitates a moment before sending out the text. **It’s Dean. From the other day,** he adds quickly, mentally berating himself for almost forgetting to introduce himself. He doesn’t have to wait for long. The phone rings almost immediately, and Dean picks it up, suddenly nervous. What if it’s awkward, what if Castiel doesn’t want to talk to him-

_“Hello Dean. I was hoping I would hear from you,”_ Castiel states over the line, sounding surprised and pleased.

“Hi, yeah, I was just cleaning out stuff and I-I thought that it would be nice to, you know, talk.” Dean is stammering and he knows it. He clears his throat and tries to work out the roughness of his voice. 

“ _How are you?_

“Good, good, you know. Cleaning out my dad’s house is kinda proving out to be bigger task than I thought.” Yeah. Especially looking at the mess he just made. “How are you? Any even as half as charming customers walking in at the shelter?” Dean tries for a joke, half-mortified with his flirtatious tone the second the words come out of his mouth. 

_“No, just you, I’m afraid. We did receive three lovely, antique chandeliers, however. Not sure what to do with those.”_

“Wow, you get stuff like that as donations? Can you sell those, use the money for the homeless?”

“Yes, that is most likely what we’ll do. But I just couldn’t help but visioning a chandelier in my future living room. I really want to build a house for myself someday.” That earns a small smile from Dean. 

“Yeah? You got the plans ready for that already?” They talk about Castiel’s vision for a house and his crafting projects, but everytime Castiel tries to change the subject to what’s going on with Dean, he deflects by talking about menial stuff. He can’t. He just wants to feel like a normal person having a normal conversation. Castiel seems to understand and indulges him, conversation flowing then more easily. 

_“I was looking at some western films the other day, inspired by our talk. I’m just not quite certain what to watch. Would you have some recommendations?”_ He asks when they talk about good movies, and Dean feels a unexpected surge of excitement in his chest. 

_“_ Oh man, do I. You can come over and I can school you on the classics.” Dean answers at once, only then stopping to think if he’s coming off as too forward and pushy.

_“That sounds great, I’d like that. When would be a good time?”_ He lets out a tiny breath in relief. 

“How does this Saturday sound?” 

x

Dean can’t shake the feelings of nervousness that has itched under his skin all day, and he tidies up the place meticulously and changes his shirt twice. _Relax, idiot, it’s just a friend coming over._ But Castiel seems like a really cool guy and Dean wants to make a good impression on him. He doesn’t want Castiel to figure out that he’s just a regular loser with a lot of daddy-issues. So maybe he’s sort of lonely and in need of a friend, sue him. 

When the doorbell rings, he almost jumps out of his skin. Dean walks to the door at an even pace, so no one could think he’s rushing or anything. He opens the door and is immediately greeted by a wide, welcoming smile. Castiel looks more tanned in the fluorescent lighting of the hallway, messy hair looking like someone tried to smooth it down, unsuccessfully. 

“Hi”, Castiel greets him sheepishly, lifting a bottle of wine in his hands, and Dean responds with a smile and a breathy _hi_ , not sure whether to shake hands or hug him, just standing there awkwardly.

“Not sure what the etiquette is for binge watching westerns, but I brought wine?” 

“That’s awesome, in that case you’re welcome inside”, Dean grins, finally bringing himself back online, stepping out of the way and gesturing Castiel to enter. _Wine, I guess I can live with that._ The man thanks him politely, treading past him in the narrow hallway, looking around like people always do when they’re trying to map out a strange apartment. 

“It’s not, uh, much, but it’s decent. This here is the living room, behind that door is the bedroom and that’s the kitchen.” Dean walks Castiel through the small apartment, leading them to the kitchen. Castiel spots the wooden kitchen table, running his fingers over the smooth surface and admiring the woodwork.

“This here is a finely made table. It’s oak, right? 

“You’re the expert”, Dean chuckles, feeling sort of simple for not knowing. “I bought it from a friend of mine, so no fancy story there. Really heavy to carry though”, Castiel nods, accepting the answer easily, blue eyes tracing the seamless surface keenly. Dean follows his expressions, fixated on the sharp gaze Castiel is appraising the table with. 

“You’re really into wood, huh?” He wonders out loud, searching for his thoughts for some topics of smalltalk, but Castiel just looks at him, wide-eyed and sort of taken back and he realises what he has blurted out. Dean turns red, mouth working overtime to come up with an any excuse to cover up his blunder. He’s fuckin _mortified_ . Now Castiel probably thinks he’s coming onto him, _oh fuck what have I done, I need to move out of the country immediately-_

“Fuck I’m so sorry, I-I phrased it all wrong, I just meant-” he begins, but Castiel breaks out in an amused and somewhat awkward laughter, his voice husky, and the tense atmosphere relaxes at once. 

“Don’t worry, no one has ever asked about my hobbies in that fashion, so um… points for originality. And to answer your question, I wouldn’t consider myself particularly talented, but taking on a craft like this, it’s a life-long mission of mine.” Castiel’s eyes seem to be transfixed on the table, but he hasn’t run out to the hills yet, so maybe Dean hasn’t fucked this up. He takes a steadying breath and puts on a smile that he hopes looks dazzling. 

“Okay, awesome, you can tell me all about it while we’re watching movies. I got pizza, you bring the wine.” 

The conversation flows easier while they’re watching movies. Dean has picked out his all-time favorite, Tombstone, and the other one had to be a Clint Eastwood movie, so he made a difficult choice and picked Unforgiven. Castiel seems to be enjoying himself, although he constantly interrupts Dean’s favorite scenes by questioning the rationality of the plot and the characters. They’re splayed on the opposite ends of the couch, the leftovers of the pizza discarded on the floor. They’re almost done with the wine bottle when the second film ends, and maybe it’s the company, maybe it’s the wine, Dean’s feeling happier than in a long while. It doesn’t feel like he’s invited a stranger into his house, more like old friends bantering about everything and anything. Castiel is funny, in a dry, sarcastic fashion, and he seems like a man who has been around the block and still has remained humble and compassionate. He has endless amount of stories and he isn’t afraid to make fun of himself. Dean likes that. 

After the second movie ends, Castiel stretches and gets up from the couch, swaying a little.

“I need to stretch my muscles”, he mumbles as a explanation.

“Well, what did you think?” Dean asks, watching him shuffle towards the shelves that houses all of his movies, games, even a couple of books. Family photos. He sees the man observe his family pictures carefully, but doesn’t comment on them. Instead Castiel gives him a carefully controlled, neutral look, like he’s weighing his words.

“You seem to like these films a lot.”

“Yeah, and?” 

“That was my whole opinion.” He says it straight-faced, but Dean can see his lips twitching, hiding a smile. He huffs, faking irritation. 

“Some people have no eye for art.” Castiel laughs softly at that, shrugging to admit his guilt and turning to browse his haphazardly piled dvds. Dean has collected movies as long as he remembers, and secretly he’s quite proud of his collection. He gets up and joins the other man, wine glass held clumsily in his hand. 

“Zelda, what’s that?” Castiel asks, eyeing a misplaced Nintendo game, stacked between Star Wars movies. Dean picks the game up excitedly, holds it for the man to see.

“Oh man, this is a classic. It’s got everything, a hero, a princess in need of saving, the bad guy always loses, a happy ending…” He trails off, suddenly self-conscious about his childlike excitement. But Castiel is looking at him with warmth in his eyes.

“Do you like those kind of stories? The ones with a happy ending?” He asks quietly, and Dean can only look at him. They’re standing close, side by side, and for a split second he thinks how beautiful the man looks in the half-lit room. And that’s the first time Dean realises he wants to kiss Castiel, if only for a fraction of a second, before he dismisses that idea as stupid and buries it deep inside of him, because it means nothing. 

“Who doesn’t?” He deflects instead.

x

It becomes a thing between them to text casually back and forth daily. They text about casual stuff, complain about work, sometimes just to wish each other a good morning. It always bring a silly grin to Dean’s face to hear his phone beep, because most of the time he knows it’s Cas. 

**Do you know the price of wasabi in Japan? Over 200 dollars!** Cas might send him or any other ridiculous tidbits Dean didn’t know he needed. Most of the time it doesn’t make any sense and it always manages to light him up. They make movie nights a thing too; Cas mostly showing him over-artistic French films, usually in black and white, while Dean tries to school him on the real classics. They never go over well. Cas introduces his home almost shyly, pointing out the vast collection of furniture he has crafted by himself. He gets even more shy when Dean excitedly gushes over his skills. The most impressive piece is the queen-sized bed, which takes up almost all of the space in the bedroom. But still, he takes to sending pictures of his works in progress with modest commentary, and Dean can sense that it’s a really personal thing for Cas too to take that step. 

And sometimes when Dean is having one of his bad days, Cas tends to notice his quietness, and he always calls at the end of the day, offering his company to Dean, no matter how busy he might be. Shoving his feelings down a whiskey bottle has always been his go-to, when everything starts to feel like it’s too much, but one time he accepts Cas’ offer, god knows why. Cas ends up cooking in his kitchen, forcing Dean to chop onions and other vegetables for a stew, and they have a nice meal, instead of Dean getting drunk by himself. Cas never asks about it directly, but his smile is little softer when he hugs Dean as a goodbye. For some reason he doesn’t want to let his new-found friend down, so he doesn’t listen to that little, toxic voice inside his head next time he passes a liquor store.

Sam notices it too, how Dean spends more time on the phone than usual, and how he feels somehow lighter. He has made it back home to help with the final funeral preparations, after getting the extended vacation approved. It’s been too long since he’s seen his brother, but they quickly fall back to their old routines of teasing and being smartasses, but foremost Sam is the only person who understands him fully. Lending support to one another in this situation feels comforting, even though Dean might insist he doesn’t need it. 

“So who’s the girl you’re texting constantly?” Sam asks with faked casualness, while they’re watching some pointless action movie that just happens to be on TV. Dean makes sure that his brother sees the eye roll he makes in his direction, before answering.

“It’s just Cas.” 

“Who’s Cas?”

“My friend, I think. He’s cool.” Dean replies reluctantly, making sure that Sam catches the pronoun. 

“So a friend, or a _friend_?” Sam doesn’t let up and it’s making Dean squirm uncomfortably. 

“Jesus Sam, I know I haven’t dated in a while, but I haven’t like, switched teams, you know.” Sam holds up his hands as a placating gesture, trying to ease Dean’s defensiveness. 

“Alright, alright, you don’t need to be a bitch about it”, he laughs, that annoying little brother laugh Sam always does, when he knows he’s gotten under Dean’s skin. Dean ignores him out of spite, choosing to pay attention to his half-empty beer can. 

“So when can I meet him?” 

“At this rate, never.” Dean says gruffly, mentally already making plans for the three of them. 

x

**Let me know if there’s anything you need, or if you just want to talk today. I’ll see you tomorrow.**

Throughout the day, Dean draws strength from the short text Cas sends him that morning. He reads it when he wakes up and puts on the black suit, which he has dug up from the forgotten cavities of his closet. He reads it again, when they get to the cemetery. Sam is quiet and sullen, eyes downcast like he can find some solace there, and Dean makes sure to check up on him often during the day. He hates seeing his brother this way. The preparations for the funeral are mostly done, so they wait for the meager amount of guests to trickle into the small chapel, greeting them at the doors. Dean gives them a firm handshake and a warm smile, thanking everyone who comes. Sam is acting just as gracious, happy to see some old family acquaintances, although his tone is more hushed than usual. There’s Bobby, of course. Some of his coworkers, few of his father’s friends, mostly vets, who’ve come to pay the respects to the man who they hadn’t seen in years. No actual relatives come, neither of them actually knows whether they even have living kin. John Winchester burned a lot of bridges while he was alive, and the empty benches remind Dean of absent people, who were once part of their everyday life. 

The service goes by quickly. Dean refused to make a speech beforehand, so Sam gets up and says a few words, voice breaking couple of times. He speaks out loud the usual platitudes; a husband, a father, a friend, who will be sorely missed. It’s hard to concentrate on the words, because the pain in Dean’s chest just gets worse and worse, if he tries to listen. There’s not one honest word in that speech, because their relationship with their dad was much more complicated than that. Dean moves on autopilot for the rest of the service, thoughts blurry, when they hoist the coffin and carry it outside. Crispy autumn air greets them, sun peeking out behind the yellowing leaves. Dean half-expected it to rain, like in the movies, and the beautiful October morning seems like a personal insult to the somber gathering. 

Sam sheds a few tears when they lower the coffin into the ground. He does almost it imperceptibly out of habit, convulsively swallowing and blinking furiously next to Dean. Dean shuffles closer and squeezes his shoulder quietly, and Sam nods as thanks, shakily exhaling his grief. He stares at the coffin, unblinking and unseeing, and Sam steps forward first to sprinkle the first handful of damp soil onto the black, wooden surface. Dean’s suffocating, unable to breathe under this intense pain that throbs in time with his heartbeat. Jaw clenching, he bids his farewell wordlessly. 

Later that night finds them drinking at Dean’s kitchen table in sullen silence. Sam’s playing with the label of the bottle, gathering stray drops with his thumb. Dean has retreated into himself; a numb and unfeeling shell. Speaking about loss and other heavy subjects have never been their strong suit, although Sam certainly keeps trying. But what could he even say in this situation to make it better? 

Sam clears his throat after a while, eyebrows screwed tight, like he’s been preparing himself to ask a question. Dean keeps his bleary eyes fixed on his bottle, waiting him out. 

“So...you’ve hardly said a word about dad during my visit. What was he like, you know, near the end?” Sam finally breaks, speaking very quietly, not to disturb the respectful silence.

“You make it sounds like he had cancer or another terminal illness.”

“Jesus, Dean, I know he drank himself to death. And I hardly talked to him during this couple of years. Do you know how that feels? I’m just honestly asking you, how he was, and did he ever…” Sam’s voice shatters, before he can reach the end of the sentence, and he can’t look at Dean anymore, covering his mouth with his hand. 

“Yeah, he asked about you.” Dean answers softly, instantly knowing what his brother was about to ask. “Even called me Sammy couple of times by accident. You know how he was. He liked to drown himself in alcohol and depression. He sat down on his worn-down chair and never really tried to get back to living again.” He’s not entirely sure, if he’s trying to make things better or worse for Sam. Either way, his brother looks at him, sort of taken back by the softly spoken bitterness in his tone. 

“Wow, that’s… I’ve never would’ve guessed you’d say something like that about dad.” There’s something about that statement, coming from Sam’s mouth that sounds almost mocking to Dean. The sadness and anger he’s been swallowing down all day, rises in his throat like bile.

“You think I liked to watch him slowly killing himself? You think it was sunshine and rainbows picking him up from bars, half-passed out? I’m the one, who always had to clean up after him, deal with his drunken rage, watch him make promises he could never keep.” Dean’s not sure where the sudden outburst is coming from, but it’s bubbling beneath his skin, making his voice thinner. It’s making him sound more desperate.

“You never spoke about-”

“You think it stopped just because you moved away?” Dean challenges Sam, frantically trying to reclaim his shaken composure. It’s been ages since they’ve fought about this, but that scar has evidently never healed right, and it’s always a low blow to bring that up in an argument. He regrets it the instant the words tumble out of his mouth. Sam purses his lips in frustration, trying not get riled up by his accusations. He holds Dean’s gaze silently, a wounded look crossing his features. 

“You’re still blaming me about going away?” He asks quietly, eyes dropping to his nervously fiddling hands, like he doesn’t want to hear the answer. Dean stops. This isn’t going right at all. There’s enough pain to go around already, and Sam’s got nothing to do with it. Dean only needs to look in the mirror. He takes a deep, steadying breath, lets his anger dissipate. Without it, he suddenly feels empty, and terribly heavy, like he hasn’t slept a goodnight’s sleep in a century. 

“Look… I’m sorry. I don’t blame you. Sometimes I just wish… I wish things would’ve been different. I wish I would’ve left with you, how much easier things could’ve been. I envy you sometimes, with the starting of the new life and all.” Dean lets his shoulders slump, offering his brother a small fraction of a sad smile. Sam eyes him in surprise, clearly taken back by his confession. Few years ago, Dean would never had backed down from this fight, and he never would’ve admitted a treacherous thing like that, a secret wish to leave his duties behind, however self-imposed they may be. He feels little bit lighter, with the words finally out in the open. 

“Man, I wish things would’ve been different as well,” Sam admits, a clear peace offering. They stay silent for a while, until his brother suddenly scoffs, amused.

“Hey, remember that time when we were little, and I had decided to become a chef? When I convinced you to play hooky with me in the middle of the school day, so I could use you as a lab rat for my recipes?” 

“Oh crap, yeah I remember that. Your food was AWFUL. Mac and cheese with melted chocolate or something like that? It’s a wonder I didn’t puke. Hope your cooking is better nowadays.”

“You are ungrateful. Do you remember how furious dad was when he found out?” 

“Yeah, but the best part was he actually ate that-” 

“-he fucking ate that whole thing from the fridge”, Sam’s practically shaking with laughter at this point, and they talk over each other to complete the shared story, both wiping their eyes while hysterically laughing. It takes a while for them to calm down, but finally they manage, toasting with their bottles and taking a long sip from them, movement in perfect synchronization. 

“It wasn’t all bad”, Dean says, and the thing is, it’s easier to believe it than before. It feels liberating to talk about dad and their past, without the constant knot of shame tightening around his throat. Sam nods and smiles, more freely than before, ready to launch into the next shameful childhood memory. 

x

A rock song blasting from the speakers, the stuffy smell of unwashed bodies, cigarette smoke and alcohol is enough to make Dean feel right at home, when he enters the crowded bar with his brother. Sam follows him somewhat uneasily. Fancy college boy. He nods to the familiar bartender, Pamela, who gives him a lazy salute between fixing some drinks, and starts looking around for Cas. Soon Dean finds him, huddled at a corner table, looking rather out of place here in his trench coat and playing with his drink nervously. Trust Cas to be formal about a night out, appearing early and well dressed. Dean can’t wait to make fun of him. Wide eyed, Cas notices the brothers approaching him, his bewildered expression melting into obvious relief. Dean can’t keep the wide grin off his face when they make their way to him through the crowd, and Cas answers in kind, albeit more hesitantly. He eyes Sam behind him questioningly. 

“Hey Cas”, Dean greets him warmly, sliding next to him on the booth. He keeps his eyes on Cas, noting absentmindedly he’s fresh shaven. Cas squeezes his shoulder, blue eyes focusing intently to his, questioning _are you alright?_ written in his gaze. Dean gives him a small smile, but a noise from other side of the booth distracts him.

“Um, hi, I’m Sam.” His brother extends his arm across the table, somehow managing to look amused and earnest at the same time. Cas leans forward to shake his hand.

“Hello, I’m Castiel. It’s good to finally meet you, Sam.” 

“Likewise, Cas, likewise. Dean’s spoken highly of you.” They have to raise their voices a little to be heard over the noise, and Sam’s enjoying this part way too much, talking like he wants the rest of the bar to hear their introductions. Cas gives Dean a subtle side-eye at the praise.

“It’s alright that I call you Cas, right? I didn’t realise it was just a nickname.” 

“Yes, mostly people call me Castiel or Cassie, but actually Dean has been the first one to call me Cas.” Cas glances at him with warmth in his eyes, and Dean flushes a little. _I like it,_ it means. 

“That’s Dean alright.” Sam is giving him a _look._ Asshole _._

“Okay, now we’re all cozy and best friends forever, so can we finally order some drinks?” Dean butts in, needing the alcohol appear like pronto and his brother to stop milking the situation like yesterday. He eyes Sam meaningfully, and his brother takes the hint, rolling his eyes. 

“Fine, I’ll get the first round, so you can catch up.” Sam gets up and disappears behind a swarm of partying college boys. 

“He seems nice. Even taller than you described.” Cas is pressed right next to him, from hip to knee. Dean finds he doesn’t mind the closeness, it lends them some amount of privacy to talk to each other.

“Just wait until you get to know him. He’s a real busybody about everyone’s business”, Dean scoffs, half-annoyed and half-amused. Cas laughs softly. It’s always making him giddy for some reason to hear his laugh; Cas is usually very reserved and his eyes crinkle up when he smiles.

“That’s what brothers are for.” 

“Is your brother like that too?” Cas has told of his brother, and he sounds like a handful. The way Cas tells it, he’s fixed up his big brother’s messes more than once, as his dealings are more on the shady side. The man sobers a little, eyes sweeping over the crowd and weighing his next words carefully.

“I mean, maybe when we were young, but Gabe has his hands full with the lawsuit nowadays.” 

“Lawsuit?” It’s the first time Cas has even mentioned that, and Dean leans closer confidentially. Cas finds his hands suddenly very interesting, sounding very embarrassed.

“Yeah, he had a business, but got involved in gambling and money laundering. It- it’s not a big deal, I bailed him out, but he’s owing some money to some guys he shouldn’t have messed with and they’re out to get him. But he’s dealing with it.” Cas shrugs, clearly trying to downsize the story. 

“Maybe Sam can help, he’s almost a graduated lawyer-”

“Dean, no. I’m not pulling your family into his messes, please just let it go.” Cas looks at him sharply, his voice not leaving any room to argue. Dean finds himself retreating back with a reluctant apology ready on his lips, but Cas quickly puts a placating hand on his arm, placing a more soft smile on his lips. 

“Thank you for your offer, but please understand.” 

“Yeah, I get it, don’t worry.” Dean gives him a reassuring smile, searching his eyes for the confirmation that Cas doesn’t think he overstepped his boundaries. That is the moment Sam decides to swoop down on them, two foaming pints balanced on his hands. Cas lets go of his arm almost unnoticeably. 

“Hey you two”, he says, way too chipper and innocent. Of course he had to see that, Cas touching him, them talking and smiling like some newlyweds. The thought makes Dean flustered, and he readily grabs a pint from Sam’s hands, slamming it down in front of him hard enough to spill foam everywhere. Cas flinches, sliding further from Dean to escape the mess. 

“What did you get, Sammy-boy?” Dean plasters on the most obnoxious grin he has in his repertoire, earning himself a patented bitch-face, a sure sign his jab has found its mark. 

“I don’t know, some local beer. It all tastes the same anyway.” Sam takes a experimenting sip, smacking his mouth to get rid of the sour aftertaste. 

“He’s got no class, this one”, Dean mutters to Cas, loud enough for Sam to catch his words. 

“To be frank Dean, I also don’t have your appreciation for beer. This is not the type of establishment I usually go to in my free time.” Cas tracks Dean’s movement, when he takes a long swig from his pint, and Dean raises his eyebrows at him, mock-pity written on his expression.

“Cas, I _know.”_

“So, Cas, what do you do for living?” Sam pipes in, completely ignoring Dean. 

“I work at Lawrence Community Shelter, managing the everyday-life there, like food, lodgings, basic necessities and things like that for homeless people. We have our own counselors, but I assist them as well, to help people to look for jobs and apartments. A lot of times I just listen.” Cas speaks humbly as always, and Sam makes the appropriate impressed expression that people tend to do, when one reveals they’re an actual living saint. 

“But that’s not all, he’s _insanely_ talented carpenter on top of that. Show Sammy the cool shelf you’re making”, Dean interrupts, nudging Cas with his elbow, but the man shakes his head, uncomfortable with all the positive attention. 

“Maybe later”, he mutters, escaping into his drink. 

“So it still isn’t clear to me, how did you guys meet?” Sam with his three thousand fucking questions, almost like he’s interviewing whether Cas makes for a suitable bride. 

“Dean, uh-”, Cas starts, shooting a questioning look in his direction and he gives the man a thumbs-up to continue. “He came to donate some of your dad’s stuff at the shelter, and we got to talking. Turns out, Dean took it as a personal insult that I had never seen his favorite films, so he decided to educate me thoroughly on the subject.” 

“You forced Cas to watch all of your favorite movies? I’m sorry man.” Cas shrugs, while Dean glares at them both indignantly. 

“Sam, I really tried to make you right. But you’re a lost cause with your European black and white-films. I give up.” 

“Nobody understands your obsession with cowboy-films. Literally, nobody.” Sam shoots back, mischief in his eyes, even though the volume of their voices has raised above the socially acceptable aggression level.

“I’m curious. Which black and white films do you like, Sam?” Cas leans forward, head tilting slightly like he’s dying to know the answer and Sam lights up, probably squealing inside for the chance to talk about boring shit like that. Dean rolls his eyes and aims for a look that says he’s ready to die this second, but truth be told, the fact that Sam and Cas are getting along so well, is filling him with relief and a giddy happiness. They’re very similar in some ways; intelligent and well-educated, good with people and with a streak of nerdy hobbies. He follows their excited conversation quietly, shaking his head disapprovingly every minute or so to keep up the appearances. Cas has gravitated closer to him again in the midst of their discussion, their knees bumping occasionally and Dean finds he doesn’t mind the closeness at all. 

It must be their third round or so, slightly tipsy and quickly heading for the territory of drunkenness, when Sam says a perfectly innocent comment amidst their rambling conversation that punches Dean right in the gut, out of the blue. 

“Man, I just sort of wish dad was here to see us now, you know?” He smiles sadly at Cas and Dean. It shouldn’t have hurt that much. It really shouldn’t have. But it does, and the strangling thickness creeps up Dean’s windpipe, slowly suffocating him. Who the fuck did he think he was, thinking that he could escape this feeling by plastering a band-aid on his guilt? He goes quiet, absently listening to Cas offering his condolences and politely asking how the funeral was. Both men notice the sudden change in Dean’s demeanor, stealing worried side-glances at his direction, but Dean’s way too much in his head to assure them he’s okay. 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom”, he mumbles and without waiting for a reply, he rushes up and leaves. A man reeking of alcohol passes him in the doorway, but once he enters the bathroom, he’s alone. The music and the chatter of the crowd is still audible even through the door, but for the first time in hours, Dean is by himself. His ears still ringing from the noise, Dean lets out the shaky breath he’s been holding in and leans on the sink heavily. He watches his reflection in the dirty mirror, seeing his shoulders rise and fall with each inhale and exhale. The guilt is ever-present there, almost a visible thing, crawling under his freckled skin, making his green eyes look back at him hollowly. He wants to mar his unblemished skin, wants to cut it out and rip every tendril of that sick feeling off. Suddenly, the door opens loudly and Dean flinches in surprise, head snapping in the direction of the noise. His eyes lock with Cas’, as the man freezes for a heartbeat, until he starts making his slow approach to Dean.

“Hey, Dean. Are- are you okay?” Cas asks softly, sensing Dean’s inner turmoil.

“It was my fault.” The words spill out of his mouth, before he can even wonder whether he meant to say them aloud. 

“What was your fault?” 

“Dad’s death. I should’ve gone to check up on him. He didn’t answer my calls and I- I should’ve gone to see if he’s okay, but I thought, hey, it’s dad, he never answers his phone anyway, and I’ll see him next week, but he had fuckin died in his chair and I was a fuck-up who let his own fuckin dad die, because I was too lazy to even go check he was okay. He could still _be_ here, if it wasn’t for me-”

“Dean, you can’t blame yourself for his death.” Cas speaks over his frantic confession, never raising his voice, just easing his way towards Dean, like he’s about to shatter any moment. 

“But I’m the one responsible”, Dean argues back, voice thick, blinking back the sudden tears, fists clenching and unclenching helplessly at his side. Cas looks back at him with such compassion and sadness, blue eyes holding Dean captive, but it seems even Cas can’t find a reasonable counter-argument for his words. Instead, he reaches his arm towards Dean, maybe trying to pull him closer, he doesn’t know, but Dean withdraws slightly, out of his reach. He doesn’t need pity. Dean feels his defenses snap back faster than light, building walls a mile high. 

“Dean-” 

“I’m okay, Cas.” 

“You’re clearly not okay-”

“Dammit, Cas, I’m not some fuckin therapy project for you to feel good about yourself! You wanna hold hands and sing kumbaya so I can find the light? I can handle myself.” Dean has never seen Cas angry, much less angry with him, so he’s taken aback by the gathering stormcloud that shadows his expression, darkening his features. But the raw pain in Cas’ eyes is what stabs Dean in the heart. Cas doesn’t say anything, he just turns back on his heels and marches out, shoulders hunched. And Dean knows, he’s monumentally fucked up now. 

x

It isn’t until noon the next day, until Dean finds the energy to get himself out of bed. His head is pounding dully, mouth dry as a desert, limbs refusing to cooperate. So maybe he had too much to drink. But after dealing with Sam guilt-tripping him the rest of the night, maybe he had no choice. _Well, that’s bullshit_ , Dean thinks sourly. He had every choice. After his meltdown last night, Dean had re-emerged from the bathroom of the bar, only to find Sam sitting alone, looking like he’s about to murder Dean. Sam had immediately demanded to know what Dean had done, because Cas had come up with a hastily invented excuse and said his rushed goodbyes to Sam, before Dean could catch up with them. After some serious deflecting and pissing off his brother as well, Dean had proceeded to drink himself to stupor alone. 

He drags himself to the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee awakening him slightly. Sam is sitting by the table, looking little tired but not particularly hungover. He’s browsing a magazine deep in thought, but Dean’s shuffling steps draw his attention and he sits up straighter in his chair. 

“Morning.” Sam says pointedly. That one word is so laden with different meanings that Dean would could write a thesis about it. It means he’s still pissed, but set on making Dean talk, meaning the usual avoidance-techniques are out of the question, but foremost he’s testing the waters to see how he will respond. 

“Hey”, Dean grunts back, voice rough with sleep. He pours himself a cup of coffee and sits opposite of Sam, who has folded the magazine and is staring at Dean expectantly. Dean sighs in defeat. He doesn’t have the energy for this. 

“Well? Be out with it. I’m feeling like crap already, so the stage is yours.”

“You’re seriously taking the martyr-approach to this?” Okay, Sam might be more pissed off than he realised. 

  
“Okay, point taken. I’m sorry”, Dean offers, trying to look as sincere as possible with his bloodshot eyes. That seems to appease his brother somewhat.

“Are you willing to talk about what happened last night? What did you say to Cas? He was seriously upset when he left.” 

“I fucked up, plain and simple”, Dean shoots back, shrugging nonchalantly. That’s what his life is, and Sam should know it by now. Trust Dean to make a mess of things. Sam rolls his eyes, mouth setting on a thin line. 

“Dean, please. It doesn’t have anything to do with dad, does it? You’ve been so closed-off about his death this whole time, and you’ve barely accepted help from me in anything, but you didn’t have to deal with everything by yourself. And last night, you looked like my comment about dad had personally stabbed you in the gut before you took off.” Sam, as usual, has proven to be too perceptive, cornering Dean effectively. Dean sighs again, searching futilely for answers from the bottom of his coffee mug. He’s too tired to fight this. He pauses for a long while, the last of his resolution cracking easily as eggshells.

“The thing is...I feel like I’m responsible for his death. Maybe I could’ve stopped it, if I had just gotten there earlier. Do you know that feeling, when you can’t let go of the what-ifs and you lie awake just thinking that you failed?” Sam listens to him, brows furrowed. “He could’ve avoided this if it wasn’t for me, we’ve could’ve-”

“Okay okay okay, stop.” Sam stops his spiraling before he can get too deep. He takes a deep breath, motioning Dean to imitate him. Dean lets out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding in. “So, I wasn’t here, and yeah that’s on me, but one thing I know is that there’s nothing you could’ve done to prevent this. Do you think that with his habits, he had a long life-expectancy? And given how he died, he died almost instantly, do you remember the doctor telling you this? He had severe brain damage from the hemorrhaging. This may sound harsh, but there was nothing you could’ve done to stop that.”

“I could’ve stayed with him”, Dean says stubbornly.

“Well maybe, but it’s only gonna hurt you further to get stuck on that. You know… Bobby told me that you blamed yourself for mom’s death as well, when you were four. He said you got the exact same look back then, like you were riddled with guilt. He’s worried as well. You have a habit of taking the whole world as your responsibility, and when something bad happens, you beat yourself up for it. You can’t let other people’s lives drag you down, because the thing is, bad shit always keeps happening, and you aren’t responsible for everything.” 

“You’ve talked about me with Bobby?” Dean levels a glare in his brother’s direction, interrupting him and fixating on the only thing he can argue about, before Sam can get to the part about putting the oxygen mask on himself first. He can’t deny Sam doesn’t have a point, though. 

“Yes, of course I have! Listen to me, Dean. You’re sabotaging your life with this self-blame. You’re sabotaging other people with it too.” _Cas_. He hasn’t heard from him since last night. A twinge of shame twists his insides. 

“Now, I know I’m going to regret this, but I gotta ask. Are you sure you two aren’t dating?” Sam isn’t even teasing him anymore, he’s asking that seriously. Dean looks at him in disbelief, eyebrows raising up to his hairline. 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure. I think I would’ve noticed if I was dating a dude”, he sputters, suddenly very uneasy, fidgeting in his chair, half-ready to shoot off it and disappear, if Sam won’t abandon his Oprah-moment. Sam raises his hands in a placating gesture, apparently sensing that Dean’s a flight-risk right now.

“Okay, I just had to ask, you know.”

“You KNOW? What the fuck is up with you? You’ve been teasing me about this shit like a schoolgirl ever since I mentioned his name to you. I’m _friends_ with him and there’s no need to act like an asshole about it.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I guess I’ve been a little obnoxious about the whole thing, but it’s been so long since you’ve introduced anyone special to me. And for the record, if you-”

“Nope. Change the tune, Sammy.” Dean glares at his brother, and Sam sighs in defeat. 

“Defensive much? Oh no, don’t answer that. So, are you gonna apologise to Cas?” Sam changes the subject masterfully to equally something awkward, hell-bent on being a nosy brother. Dean rolls his eyes, but Sam doesn’t relent. 

“Not your business, but I thought I’d send him a text or something.” Dean aims for coming off as casual about the whole thing, but Sam shakes his head adamantly. 

“Dean, on a good conscience, I can’t let you do that.”

And that’s how he finds himself knocking on Cas’ door an hour later. His car is parked outside, so if he isn’t on one of his hour-long runs, he should be home. Dean’s not sure which outcome he would prefer, because he isn’t used to apologizing face-to-face. Fucking up usually has meant goodbyes as well. But Sam practically shoved him outside, so he didn’t really have a choice. His heart is hammering in his chest, palms sweaty, when he knocks on the door. He’s gonna wait for fifteen seconds, and then go, because he probably isn’t-

“Dean.” The door has opened slightly, and Cas is peeking out with a scowl on his face. He looks pissed and sort of ready to slam the door in his face. Dean opens his mouth, struggles to find any words. Shit, he didn’t figure out what he should say at all.

“Um, hi, Cas. Can- can I come in?” 

“Depends. Are you gonna behave?” Shit, angry Cas is sassy as hell. Dean has no idea how to navigate around this dramatic version of Cas, as his usual demeanor is so well-composed. 

“I- I came to apologise about last night”, Dean offers, hoping that it’d be the right thing to say. Cas stares at him in sullen silence, before he huffs and opens the door fully, inviting Dean in. Cas is barefooted, and he curls his toes against the cold when Dean enters, bringing in the chilly autumn breeze. He disappears into the kitchen without a word, carrying a certain air of resentment about him, leaving Dean to undress his coat. Dean follows Cas silently, observing him from the doorway. His shoulders are tense, when he picks up the knife and carries on chopping some carrots, and he’s deliberately not looking at Dean. It’s not particularly encouraging, but he doesn’t really have a say in the matter, if Cas chooses to ignore him. He takes a steadying breath, struggling at finding the right thing to say. 

“So...I know I sort of messed up last night. And- and I’m sorry for what I said. I was having a bad moment and um, I really didn’t mean any of it. It’s just, this thing with dad’s death, it’s been fucking me up, and sometimes I don’t think what comes out of my mouth.” Dean is looking at Cas carefully, trying to catch any miniscule changes that might mean his words would connect with him. This really isn’t his strong suit. Cas stops his task and sighs deeply, frustration coming off him in waves. 

“Dean, I- I get that you’re going through a rough time, I really do. And from what I’ve gathered, you seem to be the type of person, who has a hard time accepting help. You want to push people away, because it’s easier to deal with hardship alone, rather than to risk it and trust people. Am I close?”

“Um, maybe-”, Dean starts, not really sure where he was going with this, but Cas plows on, not giving him a chance to defend himself.

“But you have to stop doing that. You can’t just go and lash out on people, because you’re feeling insecure about yourself. You- you hurt me with your comments.” And he shrugs, trying to act nonchalant but there’s a telling waiver in his voice. Dean fights the urge to go and gather Cas in a hug. “You’ve never been a therapy project for me, I hope you know that. I wanted to comfort you, because I saw your distress and I care about you. That’s what people normally do, when they care about someone.” Cas shoots him a look, that catches Dean off guard; there’s downright fear of rejection on his face, and he’s never seen the other man so vulnerable. He holds his breath, heart clenching in affection and regret. It’s a contradictory feeling, but he can’t help but feel like he’s massively let Cas down. 

“I really am sorry, Cas. I promise I’ll try.” Dean breathes out, trying to convey everything he can’t say with his earnest expression. Cas searches his face, eyes softening up in a small smile, equally relieved and nervous. He circles around the table, stops in front of Dean, assessing him. He bites his lower lip and then steps even closer, pulling Dean into a tight hug. Dean stiffens up for a second, but after the initial surprise, he lets himself melt into the embrace. He grabs Cas’ shirt with both of his hands, pressing his nose against the nape of his neck, and he feels Cas’s deep exhale of relief against his own rib cage. 

“Thank you. I know there are a lot of things you choose not to talk about, but I want you to know that I’m here for you. You can trust me and you can talk to me.” Cas speaks quietly next to his ear, and suddenly Dean needs to blink the unwanted tears away. “And for what’s it worth, I really am sorry about your dad.” 

“Thanks Cas”, he chokes out, holding on for a long moment, before reluctantly pulling out of the embrace, before he will break down like a teenage girl. He avoids Cas’ eyes, lungs constricted tight like he can’t draw a full breath, and Cas squeezes his arm reassuringly.

“You’ll stay for dinner, right?” He asks quietly, hopeful. Dean nods, not trusting his voice enough to speak yet. How could he say no to that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this whole story is just a love letter to Misha and his eyes, so Cas' personality might be more Misha-like than Castiel. But Misha's eyes man. MAGICAL. 
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated! :)


	2. Chapter 2

“God, Cas, this omelette is fucking delicious”, Dean manages between the gigantic bites of the said dish, devouring it as fast as he can without choking on it. Cas observes him silently, partially in amusement and disgust. He sets down his coffee cup, pushing a small tray of something that strongly spiced-smelling in Dean’s direction. “Here, try this with it.” 

Dean glances suspiciously at the red paste, mixed with yellowish beans. “That looks way too healthy.” 

Cas sighs, rolling his eyes. Couple weeks have passed since their falling out, and everything feels back to normal. Cas has started a new weekend tradition for them; home-cooked breakfast at his house. Dean’s not sure if Cas wants to use him as a guinea pig for his experimentations or if he genuinely enjoys cooking for him. Either way, Dean’s not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, free food and great company keeps him happy. And he can actually say that in all honesty. He feels lighter than he’s felt since dad died, instead of constantly being dragged down by guilt and shame. Occasionally they still manage to suckerpunch him when he’s tired or had a bad day, but being with Cas helps. 

“So, Sam finally hunted down those lawyer-contacts that might be willing to help us with the shelter cases”, Cas starts conversationally, piling bacon slices to his empty plate. Dean steals few pieces off the plate, just in case if the other man tries to hog all of them. Cas scoffs but doesn’t try to stop him. 

“Nice, have you contacted them yet?” Dean carries on casually. They managed to meet couple of times before Sam had to leave, with much more success than the first time. Cas and Sam get along well, and with their altruistic, nerdy personalities Dean can’t fathom how they could’ve not. And now Sam can use Cas as a proxy if he wants to nag at Dean and he’s ignoring his texts. It’s working out great. 

“Not yet. But oh, something else happened yesterday. Our delivery man asked me out suddenly.” 

“What?! He asked you on a _date_? Man, that must’ve been awkward.” Dean grins like it’s the most hilarious thing in the world, stabbing another slice of bacon with his fork, but Cas is studying him, a confused frown on his face. “Well, not necessarily. He seems like a nice man and I said I’ll think about it.” 

Dean freezes, forgetting he still has a mouth full of bacon, almost choking on the meat. “Wait, what? You date guys?” 

Cas looks bewildered and shaken, until he visibly gathers his thoughts and a guarded look slips in place. “I- I thought that was clear to you, Dean.” He says carefully. _Wait, what the fuck?_

“Shit, no, Cas, I’m sorry, I don’t mean that in a bad way, we never really just discussed it so I was just surprised, but I mean it’s totally cool-” Cas holds up his hand, shutting Dean up effectively.

“Dean, I really don’t need your approval for my sexual identity.” He says it calmly, still looking deceptively neutral and Dean’s pretty sure he fucked this up royally. But how could’ve he known? 

“I know you don’t, Cas. It’s my bad I didn’t realise, but I really am fine with it, just so you know.” Shit, what is he supposed to say in these situations? Cas is keeping his face impassive, but gradually he relaxes, and the thought passes through Dean’s mind that how many of these conversations Cas has had to go through, without ever knowing how the other person reacts. 

“Okay, can we start this over? Cas, I’m glad I know now and I got your back, no matter what.” He smiles in a way he hopes to be reassuring, even though this new revelation has put him off balance for some reason. Cas smiles back, finally, but there’s something wary in his eyes like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“Thanks Dean. I just don’t consider it to be such a grandiose thing, so forgive me you didn’t get the the rainbow flags and queer pride intro. I date who I want, but since I rarely date, I don’t think it’s a big deal or anyone’s business.” His words are sharp, but he softens them with a smile, but something in his expression tells that he’s quite ready to ditch this subject for now. Dean nods in understanding and struggles to find anything intelligent to say.

“So, uh, the delivery guy, huh? I hope he’s not cuter than me”, he grins awkwardly and Cas rolls his eyes, concentrating on his food again. 

“Not by a long shot. That’s why I said I think about it”, he replies, offering Dean an actual, terribly unsubtle wink that scrunches up half of his face, and somehow it manages to look very dorky and adorable at the same time and Dean can’t help but laugh warmly at his friend.

“Man, I really gotta show you how to flirt.”

“Uh no thanks. You definitely lost some suave points like literally five minutes ago.”

x

Things are going okay between Dean and Cas. At least for the most part. Somehow Dean can’t get the conversation they had out of his head, and he is somehow _bothered_ he didn’t notice it earlier. What did he mean it was obvious that Cas was gay? It’s not like he’s discussed his romantic life with Dean, or had any pride flags laying around. He wants to ask Cas more about the subject, but he seemed reluctant to talk about it, and hasn’t brought up the topic since. But somehow Dean has become much more aware of every casual touch and hug they share, and he has to constantly remind himself that nothing has really changed between them and it’s normal to be physically close with people important to him. He considers Cas to be his best friend, even though they rarely talk of their friendship.

So when the opportunity arises to spend a weekend with Cas in Denver, he immediately jumps to it. Bobby has asked Dean to be his eyes and ears at a big car show, so the first thing he does, is a text to Cas. **Road trip to Denver next weekend?** He asks, checking his phone anxiously, until Cas replies.

**Yes. I checked with my boss, I’m cleared up to go. Where are we going?** Dean smiles, a twinge of excitement lighting him up. 

**I need to go to a car show, what do you want to do?**

They load themselves into Dean’s Impala next Friday and start their long drive to Denver. The drive goes by smoothly, easy conversation keeping them busy for the next hours. Dean plays his favorite songs, and Cas pretends to like them. Cas has located some antique stores and ethnic restaurants he wants to visit, and he sounds so excited about them that Dean allows him rattle on about them. At some point he nods off, snoring silently, cheek pressed against the window. Dean lets him sleep, stretching his back and legs on the wheel, feeling the effects of a long drive more than he used to ten years ago. They stop briefly for a dinner and a bathroom break, otherwise letting Baby devour the highway. 

It’s almost night time when they reach Denver. They strike out at the first two motels; no available rooms. Probably all the truckers coming to the car show have filled out the motels. Dean is starting to feel tired and cranky, and Cas is trying to navigate them, poorly, to some motel he found online. 

“It should be around this corner. Here, turn left- no wait, it’s the next intersection-”

“Which is it?” Dean snaps moodily, irritated with Cas’ fumbling directions.

“This road, I told you, turn left here”, Cas says snappishly, signaling with his hand. Dean swerves to the left, not bothering to ease up on the gas pedal, and he’s feeling Cas’ eyes on him. He drives on without answering to him, quickly spotting the motel and parking the car in front of the reception. He turns off the ignition, leaning back and letting out a small sigh of relief. 

“Why don’t I go book us a room?” Cas suggests, sounding like he’s not ready to argue about this, already opening the door and sliding out of the car. 

“Yeah, thanks”, Dean mumbles, stretching his neck, sort of feeling like he maybe overreacted about the situation. They’ve never really bickered about things, and it feels weird to have that negative tension between them. He wonders if Cas already regrets the decision to go traveling with him. He really hopes not. Dean watches Cas retreat inside, walking somewhat stiffly, before he gets out of the car himself and hauls their bags out of the trunk. The long drive has left him exhausted and he’s ready to crawl into bed the second they’ll get inside their room. Soon Cas emerges, dangling a set of keys from his fingers and flashing a brief, smile at him. 

“Um, this was the only room besides a one single room”, he says, some hint of apology in his voice, grabbing his bag and leading them to a room directly in front of the car. _Okay_? 

Cas opens the door, and Dean’s focus is immediately drawn to what’s in the center of the room, while the rest of the bland decorum is a blur. One, king-sized bed. He glances at Cas like this is a mathematical equation he can’t solve. Where does the other person sleep? The other man must’ve read the confusion and thinly veiled nervousness on his face like an open book, because he looks at Dean with a very careful expression, something unrecognizable flashing behind his eyes. 

“Wait, you booked us a king? I mean there’s gotta be a mistake, we can’t both fit there. You sure there weren’t any queen beds? What the fuck?” Dean’s rambling and he’s reaching for a plausible explanation for _why_ he can’t sleep in the same bed as Cas, and he’s not even sure why, but he just knows he _shouldn’t._ Anxiety ramps up in him, making his palms sweat.

“Dean, I’m pretty sure I can keep my hands off you if you sleep next to me”, Cas snaps at him, palpably frustrated. 

“Dude, this isn’t about that-” _wait, what?_ And they both just stop and stare at each other, because things just got _awkward,_ and he’s pretty sure Cas blurted that out accidentally. He watches the other man desperately fishing for something to say, something to fix this mess with, but he falls short, a tinge of red flushing his cheeks with embarrassment. This is going downhill, fast.

“...I mean, you’re right, we can manage, right?” Dean wets his lips nervously, shifting his weight and fixing his eyes on the daunting king-sized bed in front of him. _Friends sleep in the same beds constantly, nothing weird about that, so suck it up Winchester_.

“Well, if you’re done making a scene about this, I’m sure we can manage”, Cas finally finds something to say, but there’s some tightness in his voice. 

“Alright, shut up, I really wasn’t.” Cas just clears his throat, walking to the bed and placing his bag on the left side of the bed. Dean takes the hint and follows him, and throws his on the right side, opening the bag and rummaging around for a comfortable t-shirt. 

“So, shower and bed?” Cas asks, going about his unpacking in a more sophisticated manner, placing folded articles of clothing on the bed. Dean glances at him, but Cas keeps his eyes trained on his belongings. 

“Yeah, dibs on first shower.” 

They go about their evening routines in an uncomfortable silence. Cas disappears into the shower after Dean, while he crawls under covers and curls up on his side, back facing the other side of the bed. Well fuck. This wasn’t how their road trip was supposed to be going at all. He’s not entirely sure, what the fuck just happened, but the level of discomfort just reached epic proportions and blew the roof off. This he’s pretty sure of; he caused it. _Good job making him feel like you’re not a homophobe._ A fucking spectacular job. And now Cas is mad at him again. Let it be known far and wide, that Dean Winchester can’t handle sleeping in the same bed with another dude. The thought makes something jump in his stomach. A weird, unnamed thing. He brushes it aside, tries to forget it ever existed. 

The shower stops and he can hear Cas stepping out, drying his hair. He doesn’t turn around when he hears the other man dressing, small noises telling that he wants to be quiet, like he’s trying not to disturb Dean. The man pads barefooted across the room, _click_ , and the light is off. Darkness engulfs the room, and Cas tiptoes back, albeit fumbling slightly in the dark. The covers are being pulled back and the bed dibs behind Dean, when Cas lays down, settling in. The scent of fresh shower wafts in his nose, _Cas smells good._ The other man sighs silently, and Dean can’t tell whether it’s from relief of heavy thoughts. Oh, _fuck._ Dean can’t let the day end like this. He turns around, facing Cas, heart jumping through his chest with sudden panic, because he’s laying much closer than Dean realised.

“So, uh, Cas…” He says softly, and Cas turns his head towards him in the dark. “I didn’t mean to be a jerk. I was tired and frustrated and I made things uncomfortable for you, and what- what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry for taking it out on you.” Cas shuffles to his side under the covers, so they’re mirroring each other. 

“No, you know what, I’m sorry too. Sometimes I tend to forget that some people have different boundaries than me, and I didn’t realise this was one those boundaries to you.” His tone is sheepish and regretful, and Dean doesn’t want to hear it, no way, Cas doesn’t get to take it out on himself. 

“Okay, we can go all night figuring out who’s more to blame, but let’s shut up before this gets out of proportion. I-I don’t mind sharing a bed with you, okay?” For some reason, that tiny confession leaves Dean vulnerable and small. If his father could see him now. Cas doesn’t answer right away, but he reaches his arm towards Dean, settling his warm hand on his bicep, squeezing it gently, sending pleasant shivers up his arm. Dean let’s it happen, skin tingling where Cas touched him, and suddenly his heart beats a little faster. 

“I know”, Cas murmurs in a tone that Dean can’t read. It’s softer than he’s used to. “We’re okay, so let’s just get to sleep.” He turns around, rolls the covers tighter around himself. “Good night, Dean.” 

“Good night, Cas.” Dean watches the back of Cas’ head, body thrumming with restless energy and more awake than he has felt in hours. He doesn’t sleep well that night, waking up every time Cas shifts or sighs in his sleep. Dean keeps listening to his steady breathing, but it doesn’t calm him down at all. 

x 

Waking up next to someone is weird, when you’re not actually sleeping with them, especially since it’s been a while since he shared a bed with someone. Dean would never admit it out loud, but lazy morning snuggles are one of his favorite things, so it feels so out of place to feel someone shuffling in bed and getting up without saying any good mornings to him. Luckily he didn’t do anything weird in his sleep, like try to spoon Cas. 

Cas smiles at him when he finally gets up, already dressed and presentable. Dean can only squint at him and groan as a response, hair sticking everywhere and feeling like he hasn’t slept at all. 

“Coffee?” He asks, amused. Dean mouths a wordless _yeah,_ shuffling to the bathroom. 

“I mean I don’t have any, you just look like you need it”, Cas calls out after him, teasingly. Dean slams the door behind him in silent protest, and he can hear the other man snicker on the other side. 

They get ready fast and pick up much needed coffee for Dean to wake him fully up. The plan is to drive Cas into town, where he’s meeting a friend and then later meet up, once Dean is ready with the car show. They chat easily on the way, and Cas hasn’t brought up last night at all, so Dean lets it rest. Scratch that, he would be too chicken-shit to even bring out the subject. There’s no way to sneak that into the conversation without it seeming something it wasn’t. “ _Hey, anyway, you remember how we slept in the same bed last night and I got totally weird about it? Yeah, me neither.”_ Dean’s thoughts are interrupted, when Cas makes a small sound and sits up straighter next to him. 

“There he is. You can drop me off here”, Cas says, excitement lighting up his voice, already waving at someone from his seat, and there’s a handsome, dark-haired man standing in front of a cafe, who smiles widely when he spots Cas in the car. Cas holds up his finger, signaling the man to wait and turning to him, and Dean can’t remember if he’s ever looked that excited to see him. 

“Text me when you’re done? There’s no rush”, he grins at Dean, who can only nod, and then there’s that awkward second when they’re not sure how to act around each other, and Dean’s uncertain if he should hug Cas, give him a friendly slap on the shoulder or something, because they never established a routine for this, so they just keep staring at each other for few beats. 

“Okay”, Dean says, needing to fill the sudden silence. 

“Okay.” Cas echoes, and that breaks it. Clearing his throat, he opens the door and steps out, waving at Dean as a goodbye.

“Thanks for the ride, Dean.” The door closes gently after him. And then the strange man is there, he’s hugging Cas and Cas is hugging back tightly, both smiling like they haven’t seen each other in centuries. Cas didn’t mention what kind of friend he’s seeing, and come to think of it, Dean knows virtually nothing about his social circles. He’s met some of Cas’ friends shortly, but they’ve never really spent any time together, so he could be dating several men for all Dean knows. Is Cas sheltering him from certain aspects of his life? There’s something, a very uncomfortable feeling that fights to get out, tightening in Dean’s chest, but he doesn’t want to find out what it is, so he clamps it down and drives off, eyes catching the two men, still standing very close to each other, in the rear mirror. Whatever. It’s none of his business. 

Dean busies himself for several hours inspecting cars, bargaining for parts and couple of classic cars he knows Bobby’s set his eyes on, and making connections with the right people. He’s successful on most of those fronts, shaking hands and talking shop, feeling right in his element. Work and socializing keeps his mind busy for the most part, but it’s not once or even twice his mind wanders to Cas and the man he seemed to know pretty well, even though Dean’s never even heard about him. Cas sends him few messages here and there, letting him know that everything is going smoothly, and he might’ve bought an antique chair and perhaps they could fit that in the car. Dean rolls his eyes at that one.

It’s closer to evening, when Dean is finished with business and he’s absolutely _famished_. Cas texted him, saying that he found a perfect restaurant for them. Not a diner, not a burger joint, but an actual restaurant. It must’ve been years, since Dean visited a finer establishment and that was because he wanted to impress Lisa on their first date. A lot of good that did, when she broke up with him three years later. He’s not particularly trusting, when it comes to Cas’ ideas, given what he’s sometimes trying to feed Dean, but at this point he thinks he’d be willing to eat raw pasta to survive. 

Dean parks the car in front of the restaurant, and it doesn’t look much on the outside. “Korean food”, is written in tall, white letters in the window. Okay, maybe he can survive this. He’s not big on Asian food, but he once tried sushi and didn’t get food poisoning, so he’s got that going on for him. Cas said he’d be waiting outside for him, but Dean doesn’t spot him immediately. He gets out of the car, looking around. There’s not a big crowd, just few people exiting the restaurant, and he spots a familiar figure behind them. Cas notices him at the same time, and Dean lengthens his step to reach him faster. Cas is wearing a wide smile on his face, the kind where his eyes scrunch up and it is infectious, he looks _happy._

“Hey you”, Dean grins at him, and Cas opens his arms, pulling him into a quick hug. 

“I was sure those car show hunks had stolen you permanently”, Cas greets him, rumbling in his ear.

“And make me miss dinner? Hell no.” 

He follows Cas inside, who orders a table for them, and a short man leads them into a plushy booth. The seats are cheap leather and there are lot of spices and a jar full of chopsticks placed on the table. The scent of roasted meat is pervading his senses, reminding Dean that he’s about to die in five minutes if he doesn’t eat right about now. Cas slides in opposite of him, accepting the menus with a grateful smile. Cas hands one to Dean and he peruses through the menu like it’s instructions to build a atom bomb. 

“So… Korean food?” He asks carefully, trying to pick something that looks least suspicious. He’ll go with meat. You can’t go wrong with that one.

“Yes, the place came recommended to me. I take it you haven’t tried it?” 

“Um, do I look like Gordon Ramsay to you?” Cas looks at him, slightly disappointed. 

“We need to get some cultural appreciation into you, you redneck.”

“Fine, as long as I don’t have to give up my burgers.” 

The waiter comes to take their order, Dean pointing at a picture with barbequed ribs, and Cas picks out few dishes Dean’s never even heard of. Cas fills their glasses with water, while they wait for food. There’s a decent crowd inside, loud chatter and oriental music drowning out all other sounds. Dean tries to spy if the food people are eating looks edible, scanning the nearby tables unnoticeably. 

“So how was your day?” Cas asks, raising his voice a little over the noise. Dean’s focus snaps back to Cas.

“Actually pretty good. Yeah, I think Bobby will be pleased with what I found, as much as that surly bastard can feel pleased. He always says I have a good eye for cars, that’s why he sends me to these things”, he says, shrugging slightly. Cas doesn’t have an actual clue about cars, so Dean always tries to keep the car-talk bare minimum with him. Even though Cas’ confused squint is always fun to watch, when he’s trying to understand all the technical stuff so hard. 

“What about you? You looked like you had some fun with that, um, friend of yours.” Dean almost stumbles on his words, attempting to sound casual, and he hopes Cas didn’t notice his slip-up. The man smiles and nods in response.

“Michael, yes. We used to go to high school together and we’ve been friends since then.” Cas’ tone doesn’t give much, and Dean’s afraid he’s gonna clam up again about this, because that’s what he does _._ Shutting Dean out of it. But then Cas shakes his head, frowning. “Actually, that’s not the whole truth. I had a thing for him back then, but he wanted to escape Lawrence right after graduation, because of all the small-minded people and their small-minded opinions. Living in a small town as a gay man can be hard, you know? So the big city offered him a fresh start. And I stayed friends with him.” He watches Dean carefully, not breaking the keen eye-contact. Dean’s sure he’s waiting for him to say something stupid, something that finally will convince him that he’s just one of those jerks, and Dean doesn’t want to fail this test. Dean struggles with his words, buying time for himself by fiddling with his water glass.

“I actually have no idea, what’s it like to grow up as a gay guy in a small town. I didn’t know any gay people when I grew up, at least not openly gay ones.” He opts for honesty, hoping that Cas will find some mercy in him not to throttle him between his teeth over his ignorance. “Have you like- have you always know you’re gay?” 

“Have you always known you’re straight?” Cas counters instantly. He looks like he knows exactly how this conversation will go, and Dean’s not sure why it sends Cas so quickly over the edge, but he doesn’t think he’s fairly judged here. He bristles slightly. 

“I’m not- Look, I’m just trying to get to know your life, but you’re snapping at my fingers every time I even ask you something. I’m not a jerk, okay?” 

“Dean, I’ve had this conversation with many, many straight people, and you’re acting just like them. Your problem is that you think, me being gay makes me somehow different. It doesn’t.” Cas leans forward, unflinching. They stare at each other for few beats, all other people around them forgotten, and you could almost charge a battery with the static tension they’re generating. Dean’s used to the soft or quizzical looks Cas usually throws his way, but now his blue eyes are piercing, unintimidated. 

“Jesus fuckin Christ, I was just asking. Stop biting my head off”, he snaps back. Cas is slightly taken back by his comment, but precisely that moment the waiter swoops in, delivering their food. Dean gets a steamy plate of barbecued ribs, and Cas gets handed two bowls, the first one filled with strongly smelling soup, and the second one with some dish with noodles and bits of tofu and vegetables mashed together. They distract themselves with their meals for few minutes, letting the uncomfortable silence stew between them. Dean stubbornly looks at his food, cutting his meat into tiny slices. He can hear Cas stirring his stew, the metallic spoon scraping against the bowl loudly. Well, ain’t this going just fuckin fine. Cas says he’s out in the open, but judging by his reaction, he’d rather have his teeth pulled out rather than opening up about his life. Dean doesn’t even know why he cares. It shouldn’t be a big deal. Doesn’t Cas trust him? His reaction to this conversation few weeks ago was just as reserved and closed off as right now, and Dean’s been circling it endlessly in his mind, trying to figure out is it better to just stay silent or ask about it. He doesn’t want to seem like he’s avoiding it, but Cas’ reaction makes it almost impossible to talk about it like normal human beings.

A high-pitched clink brings his attention back to Cas, who has let his spoon drop loudly into the bowl, and is now looking at Dean, chewing his bottom lip. There’s still some undercurrent of irritation running through him, but for the most part, Cas looks a lot more like himself again. 

“Look, Dean. I may have...overreacted.” Dean scoffs. 

“You think?” 

“Let me explain this to you”, Cas starts, but he pauses, running his hand through his messy hair, searching for words. “Being gay sometimes means that I get treated as a curiosity. People think they have right to know my history, and like they have the right to demand answers from me. Almost everytime I come out to new people, and by this I mean straight people, I gotta go through with the same questions. How long have you been gay? Have you ever slept with a man? You think you haven’t just found the right woman? Things like that-” he pauses again, holding up his hands, clenching and unclenching his fingers, “I-I get tired, you know? So yes, I might keep things little close to my heart, but you have to understand that I’ve had learn to protect myself somehow. All these benevolent people have the need to make it known that they accept me, saying things like ‘I don’t have a problem about you being gay, but just keep it to yourself’”- Cas makes actual air quotes, “-like I owe them something for being myself. I tried to befriend people like that, but in the end I just got...I got hurt.” He shrinks visibly, having burnt through his rage. He doesn’t meet Dean’s gaze for a while, eyes focused downwards, muscles in his jaw clenching. Wow, okay. Dean swallows, cheeks burning. So maybe he feels more ashamed of himself than that time Sam caught him jerking off to a cartoon. It was a sexy cartoon though. Cas’ outburst has put things neatly into perspective, and maybe he now sees why some of his comments have triggered the other man. “But you’re right, you don’t deserve having your face bitten off by simply asking things, because other people have been assholes about it, so maybe I’ll try reigning in the knee-jerk reaction to be so defensive.” Cas shrugs, meeting Dean’s eyes, this time apologetic. 

“Uh no, I really get it Cas. I’ll try to be more sensitive about it, I really didn’t know.” Dean’s pretty sure spending time with Cas has made him decent at apologies. He’s used to handling fights by yelling and storming out, but this, actually talking things through, this is new. “And for the record, I really am interested, you know, about your life.” Cas looks at him, faint smile on his lips. 

“Why?” 

“Well- you know. You’re my friend and all that. I’m curious.” Dean fiddles with his fork, suddenly awkward. Cas is wearing a smile like he’s on some inside joke he’s not ready to share with Dean. 

“You want to try the kimchi?” He suddenly offers, pushing his bowl towards Dean. 

“Okay?” Sensing that he’s about to walk into a trap, Dean picks up the spoon nonetheless, taking a tentative sip of the soup. The chili burn hits his mouth few seconds later, and he tries to blink the sudden tears from his eyes. 

“I guess I deserved that”, he muses, downing the entire glass of water in one go, while Cas has the most genuine grin of the evening on his face.

x

_Their bodies are moving together, hands touching each other feverishly, breathing in unison. The heat is coming in waves, god Dean is so close, and he moans into Cas’ mouth, letting the other man grip his cock, it’s so good he could just come right now-_

Dean’s not sure what wakes him up. It’s not a slow ascent into wakefulness, but he snaps awake like someone hit him with a rubber band. He’s suddenly very aware of Cas, who is nestled against his back, his breath tickling Dean’s neck, and his own pressing erection, which is tenting in his boxers very demandingly. He lays there, paralyzed for few moments, not able to grasp the dream he just woke from. Cold sweat trickles against his skin, his body simultaneously hot and cold, his heart beating way too fast. Fuck. He needs to- he needs to get away like right this moment, before Cas wakes up, fuck, and he scrambles up, rushing to the bathroom. He sheds his t-shirt and damp boxers like they’re criminating murder evidence, stepping into the shower, letting the cold spray calm his body down. He stands under the freezing water as long as he can, mind blank. 

What the _fuck_ was that. It was just a dream, he tells himself. Dreams mean nothing. He feels guilty. Mortified. Panicked. Friends shouldn’t have dreams like that about their gay friends. Dean attempts to draw his mind from the memory of it, thinking about work, his past girlfriends, the tv-show he watched last week, but stuttered images of the heated dream invade his every scrambling thought. The fact that it was about _Cas,_ makes it thousand times worse. He doesn’t want to think about it. If he does, he’d have to remember this isn’t exactly the first time he’s had a wet dream about someone, who has a stubbled jaw and a hard cock pressing up to his own- he can’t think about it. Panic washes over Dean. The cold water hurts his skin, but he doesn’t want to get out, even though he’s shaking like a leaf. He just stands there, frozen, unable to breathe. He has been spending way too much with Cas. Yes, that must be it. Sharing a bed, dinner, roadtripping together- his brains just got their wires crossed. He exhales shakily. 

He turns off the shower, wrapping himself in a large towel, hands trembling. He can’t forget what Cas felt like in the dream, but he can bury the whole thing, deep, somewhere where it will never float to the surface again, he _has_ to, because now he wonders what it would be like- 

Dean blanks again. He dries himself, washes his teeth hard enough to bruise his gums. A sense of wrongness pervades through his senses, he _feels_ wrong. He’d rather drown himself in the shower than face Cas right now. Taking a deep breath, he opens the door, and Cas squints at him from the bed, his hair sticking up. Panic flares deep in his gut again, _what if Cas heard or saw him?_

“Hey. Didn’t take you for a early riser.” Cas greets him, voice rough from sleep.

“Yeah, well.” Dean shrugs and doesn’t purposefully look at Cas, focusing on finding fresh clothes from the bag. “I woke up, and wanted to get this show on the road.” Cas stays quiet for a while, and Dean can feel his eyes on him, but he’s very determined at ignoring him. He can’t look at Cas now, he’ll fucking _shatter_ if he does. 

“Is- is everything okay?” He sounds more hesitant now, slowly extracting himself from under the covers, gaze still fixed on him. 

“Yeah. Peachy.” Dean’s voice comes out all kinds of wrong, choked off and distant, and he flashes a smile that turns out to be more of a grimace, avoiding Cas’ eyes. 

“Okay”, Cas says slowly, questioningly. 

“Look- nothing’s wrong. I just- I want to get ready so we can leave early.” 

“Okay, if you say so.” Cas sounds confused, but he doesn’t press further. Dean wants to hit himself. He made things a hundred times worse with his awkward behavior, and he needs to spend the next nine hours with Cas in a confined space. He just needs a moment, a moment to collect himself so he can feel normal and not behave like a constipated asshole. God, he needs whiskey. 

x

Dean manages to avoid Cas for the next week successfully. And he very resolutely ignores the reason, why he’s suddenly acting so weird around him. He picks up extra shifts at work, dragging Benny and others he works with to bars afterwards, where they hang out to wee hours of morning. He drinks way too much, nursing massive headaches that remind him that he can’t hold his liquor in his thirties as well as he did ten years ago. He blasts music in his car so loud that it leaves his ears ringing. Anything to fill the silences, that creep up on Dean when he’s lying on his bed, remembering that he saw a dream about his best friend and now it’s messing with his head. 

Cas has called him a couple of times, sounding more and more hesitant when he’s talking to Dean, and he’s trying so hard to ignore that stupid fucking dream, because it’s fucking them up too. He had to cancel on their weekly breakfast at Cas’, and although Cas had masked his disappointment well, Dean could detect how his voice got more tense over the phone. He really needs to get his shit together, because he misses Cas’ company. Dean’s not even sure himself why he’s made such a big deal of it, but he’s sure that Cas will be able to read him like a book, if he sees him now. Seeing the guilt, the sudden apprehension. Dean’s straight, and he shouldn’t have thoughts like that about other men. He doesn’t. It was just a fluke. He watches porn, jerking off to busty, oiled-up women, but he keeps hovering over videos of men fucking each other, until he realises what he’s doing, closing his laptop in a panic. He spends sleepless nights, staring at the blank walls in the dark, the feeling of wrongness beating down on him. 

So, it might not be the wisest decision to meet up with Cas after work one day. Cas texts him, saying he’s going on a trip for two weeks and if Dean wants to hang out before he leaves, so of course he can’t say no. Dean suggests a tiny bar in his neighbourhood, because it feels like a safer choice than spending time one-on-one with Cas right now. 

Dean arrives there first, settling for a small table furthest away from the door. There’s a winter storm outside, but it’s raining bucketfuls of water. Couple of other people sit at the clustered booths, deep in conversation, but otherwise the place is nearly empty, country music blasting from the stereos. He orders a shot of whiskey and gulps it down, before Cas can come and reprimand him for it, then continues his sober streak with a bottle of beer. He fiddles with the bottle, feeling oddly nervous. It’s not like this is a date with a girl, he reminds himself, but he can’t shake the jittery feeling from his limbs. The door swings open and Cas swoops in, hair messy from the wind, wet trench coat clinging to his clothes. Dean’s eyes are glued to him, and Cas finds him immediately, a big smile lighting up his face. And he looks...good. 

Oh fuck.

There are some moments in movies, where time seems to slow down, when the hero of the story locks eyes with the heroine for the first time, a moment of fated encounter, but that moment, Dean just feels monumentally, abysmally fucked. And very abruptly he understands, he’s been fucked from the very beginning, but it’s hitting him now like a oversized brick, leaving him winded. He wants to deny it, wants to shove this revelation back inside the dark corners of his brain, with the rest of his messy secrets, but he can’t. He just knows he’s thoroughly fucked. How the _fuck_ did this happen without him even realizing it? His brain short-circuits and the rapidly rising panic just stops, all the alarms in his head going dead silent.

“Hello Dean”, Cas says in his rumbling voice, shedding off his damp jacket, and Dean snaps back to reality, limbs suddenly functioning again. His body feels like he just got electrocuted.

“Hey Cas”, he manages in a choked-off voice. He realises he’s been staring at Cas this whole time, so he fixes his eyes on his bottle, clutching it in his fingers compulsively. Cas slides into his seat, keeps looking at him keenly with a slight, questioning smile on his lips.

“Is everything alright?” He asks. He signals for a beer, then turning his blue eyes back on Dean. 

“Yeah, it- it’s nothing, long day, you know, all that.” Dean stumbles for words, clearing his throat, desperately trying to balance himself. He tries to give Cas a reassuring grin. There’s a underlying current of panic running underneath his skin, and more than anything he just wants to go into an empty room and scream himself hoarse. What the fuck is he going to do about this? “So what, you’re going on a vacation?” He changes the topic very quickly. This time it’s Cas, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat. 

“Well, it’s not a vacation, per se. My brother, Gabe, I’ve told you about his dealings, right?” Dean nods, glad that he was able to distract Cas that easily. “He’s facing a lawsuit and possible jail time, his business is closing down, so I need to go help him a bit. He’s not dealing with this very...maturely.” They pause for a second, when Cas’ drink gets delivered to the table. 

“Oh shit, what are the charges?” Dean asks quietly, when the waiter retreats back behind the bar.

“Uh, money laundering and apparently hiring paperless sex workers beyond the border. I’m not sure about the details either.” Cas looks somewhat uneasy, avoiding Dean’s eyes. 

“Wait- what kind of business is he running?” 

“It’s an…adult entertainment business, for all intents and purposes.” Cas actually blushes, squirming in his seat. A disbelieving grin makes its way to Dean’s lips unintentionally.

“So you’re saying that your brother has a porn shop.” 

“Yes”, Cas admits reluctantly. He finally meets Dean’s eyes and he has to fight to keep the smile off his face. “It’s not funny, Dean.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. It’s tough what’s happening to your brother. But you gotta admit, it’s a little funny. How the fuck are you guys even related?” Cas shrugs, expression torn between amusement and embarrassment. 

“Sometimes, I wonder that myself.”

“No, seriously, he sounds kind of awesome. I want to meet him some day.”

“You can come with me to visit him in prison.” Cas rolls his eyes, but a flicker of sadness shadows his face for a split second. Dean wipes the grin off his face, feeling a like insensitive asshole again. He knows Cas isn’t that close with his brother, not like he is with Sam, but family is always family, and Cas has probably been dealing with this alone, while Dean’s been feeling sorry for himself. A flicker of guilt stabs him. 

“Yeah, sorry. I shouldn’t make jokes about this. I know I’d be a wreck, if something like this happened to Sam.” He says, apologetic. Cas gives gives him a rueful smile, lifting the bottle to his lips. He takes a long sip, and Dean tries to be subtle about looking at his lips, until he catches himself. 

“I don’t mean to sound harsh, but he sort of brought it on himself. He wouldn’t listen to me, or anyone else for that matter, when he started making some very bad decisions and kept digging himself deeper into that mess. He knew the risks very well, and now he’s paying the price for that.” 

“Why didn’t you want Sam to help you back then? Maybe he could have useful connections, lawyer stuff like that.” Cas shakes his head.

“He’s beyond that kind of help. I didn’t want your family to get mixed up in his messes. And if I’m being honest, I was...embarrassed. I didn’t want to make a bad impression on your family.” He glances at Dean, with a sheepish look in his blue eyes. Cas holds him captive there, and Dean has the inexplicable urge to grab his hand and squeeze it, just to feel connected with him. He unconsciously leans forward, resting easily under that reassuring gaze. “Where have you been this past week, Dean?” Cas asks him in a quiet voice, searching his face for any answers. “I kind of missed our talks.” 

“I, uh…” Dean blanks, searching for some plausible explanation, “-I’ve been, you know, staying busy and- and I’m thinking of getting a girlfriend?” His voice rises at least an octave, while he’s trying to tamp down the mild panic that’s making his palms damp all of a sudden. _What the fuck?_ That’s what he comes up with? A girlfriend? Cas looks just as dumbfounded by this, blinking owlishly. 

“Um, okay?” He says very slowly, clearly trying to get back on track. “Have you started seeing someone?” 

“No, I haven’t, but- maybe I will, you know?” Dean aims for a roguish grin, but it comes off feeble and nervous. Cas nods, carefully keeping emotions off his face, but he’s watching Dean closely. Dean tries to take a steadying sip of his beer, mind racing with desperate possibilities how to get out of this one, but finds his bottle empty. “And you?” He asks, somehow sounding out of breath. He tells himself it’s only to keep the conversation going, not because it’s been bothering him for a long time. 

“What?” Cas asks, brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Did you go on a date with the guy at work, who asked you out last month?” Dean clarifies, trying his best to sound nonchalant. Realisation dawns on Cas’ face and he nods, lips turning into a lopsided smile.

“Yeah, um, no. He wasn’t really my type.” He glances at his hands, not elaborating any further. Dean struggles for something to say, but there’s a cacophony of relieved and panicked voices blocking every sensible thought he’s ever had. He’s been scared to ask Cas about it. He was scared, because he wasn’t sure how he’d react, if Cas had said something else. 

“Okay, cool, nice talk. I think I need more drinks.” Dean excuses himself clumsily from the table to get more drinks from the bar, heart still racing. He doesn’t want to think about what’s happening here, it’s too fucking weird. He orders some specialty brew in a large pint and another beer for Cas. The pint turns to multiple pints; Dean’s in a hurry to drink himself to blackout. Cas is much more moderate in his drinking, so he attempts to keep Dean in check too. Dean almost loses his shit, when Cas confides that since Gabe’s bankruptcy, he’s almost ran away twice with two different C-list porn stars, and he’s been running illegal casinos, burning through his money faster than you can spell “jail time”. Dean’s trying to stay cool about it, until Cas absolves him, granting that it is slightly insane. When Dean’s speech becomes too slurred, while he’s trying to insist the accusations against Gabe are totally unfounded and unfair, Cas calls it a night, shutting down all Dean’s protests patiently. Cas steadies him, when Dean sways slightly while getting up, staying close behind as he staggers towards the front door, room spinning unpleasantly. 

“You walked here?” Cas asks, mouth close to his ear. Dean turns slightly, catches his eye over his shoulder. He still looks sharp, face little flushed from the warmth and alcohol. 

“Yeah”, he breathes out, pushing the door open. It’s still raining like motherfucker, water gathering in large puddles in the parking lot. Couple of street lights have gone out, the torrential rain beating on the roofs of the buildings in the dark. The damp coldness sobers Dean somewhat, and he’s able to stand on his feet more or less steadily. Instead of diving straight into the rain, Dean stays under the small canopy shielding the front door, Cas standing next to him. “You took the bus?” He asks, turning to Cas, who’s standing with hands in his pockets, the trench coat tightly wrapped around his body. 

“Yes. My plane leaves in the morning, and I still have to get back, so...” Cas trails off, but he doesn’t make the slightest effort to move, instead just watching the endless pouring of the rain thoughtfully. He looks content to just stay here, side by side with Dean. Bolstered by the alcohol and the lowered inhibitions, Dean opens his mouth to ask the one question he didn’t dare ask inside.

“So, what _is_ your type?” Cas’ attention snaps back to him, and he looks incredulous. He turns fully to face Dean, an expression on his face that says he wants to say something really badly, but doesn’t know if it’s wise. He opens his mouth to speak, but instead he just licks his lips nervously. Dean focuses on that tiny motion. His head starts spinning again, and apparently he has over-estimated his balance, because Cas’ hand shoots out to steady him all of a sudden, burning a brand on his arm. 

“What are you really asking me here, Dean?” Cas murmurs, eyes locked with his. He never takes his hand off, and Dean becomes really aware of that one point of contact. Holy fuck. What the fuck is happening here? He blinks like he’s waking up from a long trance. They’re so close, it would be the world’s easiest thing to just press little closer-

He jerks back, not violently, but just enough to dislodge Cas’ hand. 

“It’s just a dumb question, that’s all”, he shrugs dismissively, stuffing his hands into his pockets. The surprise and disappointment is clearly written on Cas’ face, but he makes quick work of smoothing his features into something unreadable. He gives Dean a tiny smile, one that tells he knows enough, too much, but is polite enough to pretend he doesn’t. 

“Sometimes you’re a very hard man to read, Dean Winchester.” Cas says quietly. He squares his shoulders, popping his collar against the downpour and steps into the rain. He turns towards Dean again, takes a few hesitant steps backwards. “I’ll see you when I get back?” He asks, little louder. Dean can only nod.

“Y-yeah, stay safe.” Cas gives him a final smile and a salute before he takes off, walking hurriedly, head pressed down to give him protection against the heavy rain. Dean watches after him, until the darkness engulfs his hunched form. He exhales shakily, finally letting out the breath he’s been holding for the last few hours. He’s fucking in love with Cas. He’s in love with him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I write this chapter just to include a storyline about sharing a bed? Yes and I have zero regrets. Poor, clueless Dean, he's such a fuckin mess.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #prayforSam

Dean’s fucked up. He’s fucked up so badly. He’s gonna mess this up, he’s already messed it up by acting like a completely bipolar asshole, and Cas is probably gonna be fed up with the shit he’s pulled real soon. If he isn’t already. Dean can’t make the heads or tails of this situation; there’s no way he can be in love with Cas. He’s straight, for fuck’s sake. He dates girls, and he’s never even kissed a dude. He’s been single so long that his body has gotten somehow tricked by their continuous proximity, some wires must’ve been crossed wrong, it’s just a passing thing, he tells himself. He’s just confused, because Cas treats him good and seems like he cares about Dean. Dean’s thoughts keeps circling these vicious thoughts day after day. Cas probably hates him. He’s been busy dealing with his brother, so the steady trickle of daily messages has almost died down over the past few days. Dean finds himself often sitting on the couch, staring at his phone or pulling up their messages, fingers frozen over the keypad because he can’t think of a single thing to say. He can’t even speak about this to Sam, or to anyone else. What would he even say? It’s been awhile since he felt this lonely.

During the day he can find all the excuses in the world to avoid dealing with the panicked doubts about himself. He’s building up metal walls into his own mind, isolating every treacherous thought the second they’re born. He’s walled up and stuck, feeling like he’s treading forward in a sandpit, slowly sinking deeper and deeper. 

When Dean’s alone in bed, small tendrils of doubt are able to slip past the impenetrable walls. He wanted to kiss Cas so badly. He wanted to feel his soft lips touch his own, and he wanted to feel the scruff of his stubble, inhale that homy aroma of wood and old buildings Cas carries with him. He wanted to touch Cas. 

A week into his guilt-ridden insomnia, he finally gives in sometime after midnight and he fetches his laptop, very discreetly clicking that one video he’s been eyeing before, of two guys giving each other blowjobs. He can’t take his eyes off it, barely lasting few minutes until he comes hard into his own hand, jaw clenched tight so he won’t make any noise. Quickly closing his laptop, Dean cleans his fingers, body still thrumming with restless energy, and he feels ashamed. Next night, he wakes up achingly hard in the middle of the night, and he remembers he dreamt of Cas; his throaty moans as Dean was sucking his cock. He stubbornly ignores his own erection, until he gives up and starts jerking himself off fast, trying to think about the girls he’s slept with, but the images of Cas’ fingers in his hair and his cock in his mouth is what finishes him off. The orgasm doesn’t satisfy Dean; he feels ashamed, because he _wants_ it. He curls up on his side and hugs his pillow, trying to block the thoughts saying he just jerked off thinking about another man. His best friend. He’s gonna ruin it, because no good things will happen to him, when there’s something inside of him that’s so deeply faulty. 

Cas would probably fight him on this, say stuff like it’s part of who Dean is and there’s nothing wrong with him. But he remembers the threats his dad made, when he found the Indiana Jones-poster Dean had put up on his wall as a teenager. “You keep these faggot pictures out of my house boy, or I’ll beat you up the next time”, he had growled, ripping the poster off and tearing it into pieces. Dean remembers other things too. He remembers watching other boys, and he remembers the handsome, muscular PE teacher he had a slight crush on. He remembers his best friend from childhood, Adam, and how one time they accidentally fell asleep on Dean’s bed and his dad found them like that. Adam wasn’t welcome into the house after that, and Dean got bruises on his ribs as a souvenir. Dad taught him how to handle weapons and fix cars to make him more manly, and now he’s terrified he’s exactly the thing his father tried to make him not to be. His father _knew,_ and he he tried to beat it out of Dean, to make him afraid to even look twice at other men. But it’s still there, and even though Dean’s terrified, he knows it’s there. 

But at the same time, Cas is freely being who he is, and he’s not terrified, he’s not ashamed, and it makes Dean wonder, because he was never given the liberty to express himself. Something about Cas makes something stir deep inside of him; a flicker of hope. Would it be possible to live being himself, freely? And in those wakeful, restless hours he allows himself this one treacherous thought. What if Cas was feeling the same way he was? 

x

Dean’s used to seeing the airport packed with people, so being there in the middle of the night without all the noise feels strangely eerie. Some of the coffee shops and other essential services are open, and couple of weary travelers occupy the small tables, half-asleep. He walks past them, steps echoing in the vast hallways, the overly bright neon signs and lights stinging his sleep-deprived eyes. He catches sight of a clock that almost mockingly tells it’s quarter past three. He fucking figured that on his own, thank you very much. But he’s here of his own volition, because he _insisted_ , never mind the pathetic amount of sleep he got. 

Dean finds the gate for arrivals from Florida, and sets in wait. The sleep deprivation has dulled his senses somewhat, so he doesn’t have the energy to even feel nervous. But he knows he is, because he has zero amount of clue of what he’s gonna do about Cas. Is he able to pretend that he didn’t have a huge meltdown and act normal around him? Or is he going to just ruin it by being cagey and weird? He’s been running these thoughts nonstop, down to the point where even alcohol couldn’t keep them at bay. Deep down he knows he’s just permanently terrified, right down to his bones about all of this, but at this moment, he’s just too tired to care. Dean’s just going to pick up Cas, and that’s it. 

He doesn’t have to wait for long; a meager amount of people start trickling in from the doors, and Cas is among them, dragging a heavy suitcase behind him, looking scruffy and exhausted. Dean can’t help the huge smile that forms on his face, heart leaping in his chest, and his legs start slowly carrying him towards Cas, like he’s drawn to him. Cas spots him, and the echoing smile Dean gets in return, is equally soft and delighted. And suddenly Dean just _knows,_ he knows he wants to keep Cas, knows that he wants to be near him, the way they easily hold each other’s gazes and he can’t stop smiling, even though it’s the middle of the night and there are strange people around them. _This is what it’s supposed to feel like._ Cas greets him and Dean pulls him into a hug, makes it really count, holding him close like he’s a precious thing, and Cas leans into the embrace easily. Something fragile shifts in his chest, easing up the pressure that has been holding him down for weeks. 

“Thanks for picking me up. Although, you really shouldn’t have”, Cas rumbles in his ear, detaching himself from the hug slowly, looking at him curiously. Dean rolls with it, even though he could’ve held on just a little bit longer, turning around and guiding them towards the exit. He squeezes Cas’ shoulder, grinning widely. 

“Oh, you know you love me for this. You think I would’ve let you wait for a bus at this hour?” Dean is able to get past the sudden brain freeze with minimal amount of panic, when he realises he just slipped the l-word into the conversation, just like that. 

“Well, you’re not wrong, and I do appreciate this.” Cas breezes past his slip-up, seemingly not noticing how Dean just stopped breathing for a second. 

“So, uh, how was it? How’s your brother doing?” Dean asks quickly, and Cas lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Oh God, I am way too tired to rant about Gabe. I’ve been sleeping on an uncomfortable pull out couch for two weeks, going over his finances and books, trying to figure out how he even stayed afloat all these years, keeping him in check, answering phone calls from suddenly unemployed strippers, while he’s been doing tequila shots and hosted three different parties at his house. Right now, I just wanna sleep in a real bed and then wash the Florida stench off me.”

“That bad?” Dean grimaces, offering a sympathetic smile to him. Cas’ hair is sticking up wildly, and he has huge bags under his eyes, face scrunched up adorably into a grumpy expression, but he still manages to look good. Fuck, Dean’s way too into this. They make their way quickly to the Impala in the parking lot and start driving to Dean’s apartment, navigating along the empty roads. Cas leans his head on the headrest, looking like he’s trying very hard to stay awake. Occasionally he stretches his apparently stiff neck, groaning in displeasure. Dean can’t help himself the third time Cas attempts to ease his uncomfort.

“Look, you know how uncomfortable my couch is, so it’s no big deal if you want to sleep with me. My bed is spacious enough for the both of us”, he offers. Cas shoots him a questioning look.

“What, no girlfriend yet to warm your bed?” Dean actually blushes, but he’s lucky Cas can’t see that in the dark.

“Shut up, you know I don’t have a girlfriend.” 

“Sorry, couldn’t help it. And thanks, I’m not going to say no to that.” They fall silent after that. But there’s some tension weaved into it, and the atmosphere in the car becomes much more charged, and even Cas looks alert for the rest of the trip. 

Dean lets them in his apartment, heading straight to the bedroom, making a space for Cas in his bed, while Cas shuts himself in the bathroom. His nerves are acting up again, making his palms sweaty, because _fuck,_ they’re gonna share a bed. Why the fuck did he had to open his big mouth again? What if his dick is gonna act up this time too? Why didn’t he think this through at all? _It’s fine_ , the rational part of his brain is trying butt in, _he’s gonna be so exhausted he’ll be out like a light._ Dean settles into the bed, almost succeeding into fooling himself there’s nothing weird about any of this, even though he realises this is so far out of the straight territory. He hears the bathroom door opening, and Cas shuffles in the dark into the bedroom, awkwardly bumping into the furniture, not accustomed to moving in the strange apartment. He slides under covers, leaving a respectable distance between them, settling on his side, back facing towards Dean. 

“Good night Dean”, he mumbles. Dean lays on his back, watching the silhouette next to him in the darkness, listening Cas’ breathing get slower and deeper when he falls asleep. He very carefully turns on his side, inching closer to Cas under the guise of sleeping, and Cas doesn’t move away. 

x

It feels like Dean just fell asleep, when he wakes up feeling too hot and closely pressed up between Cas and the wall. His arms are numb from the uncomfortable position they’ve been in, and Cas is tightly nestled against his back, arm resting on Dean’s side so that they’re almost cuddling. That’s the first thing Dean registers with his sleep-addled mind, but the second thing is much more urgent and it leaves his mouth dry. Cas’ erection, pressing up against his ass. What the fuck. He wiggles experimentally, trying to get his arms from underneath him, but it brings his ass flush against Cas’ cock, and he can feel it twitching slightly. He freezes, expecting himself to go to a full-on panic mode, but instead an intense wave of arousal rushes through his body. Dean’s heart beats so loud, he’s afraid that Cas will wake up. He tries to carefully adjust his position again, but _fuck,_ he can hear a sharp inhalation behind him, when the sound of rustling startles Cas awake. It takes a second for him to get his bearings, but apparently he figures out pretty fast he’s got Dean trapped between the wall and his dick by the low cursing under his breath. He tries to shuffle backwards without alerting Dean, and it abruptly triggers something in him, so he turns quickly, facing Cas and putting a hand on his chest to stop him, feeling Cas’ thundering heartbeat under the tips of his fingers. 

“Dean? You were awake? I’m so sorry-” he starts, voice rough from sleep, sounding mortified, but Dean shuts him up.

“Cas, it’s okay”, he whispers hoarsely, inching closer to him in the dark. Dean’s _insanely_ turned on, and all the other voices in his head have gone quiet, allowing him for once the courage to just go for it. He slides his hand from his chest to Cas’ stomach, feeling the muscles jump underneath his touch. Cas is right there, so close, solid, muscular and warm enough to bask in the heat, and he doesn’t stop Dean, letting Dean touch him in a stunned silence. “I got you”, he murmurs, moving his hand lower to trail over the sharp hip bones, and finally feel Cas’ erection through his boxers. Dean cups his cock, squeezing it slightly and it pulses in his hand expectantly. The weight and the warmth of it feels foreign, but he’s more than willing to make this work to the best of his ability. Oh god, he’s gone to hell and this is his punishment, and fuck he wants more. 

“Dean, what-” Cas tries to ask, but another stroke renders him speechless. He goes rigid, breathing through his nose and trying to stay silent, but each inhale is labored, as Dean touches him through the fabric. 

“Just let me do this”, Dean implores, his voice so quiet he can barely hear it himself. Cas lets out a shaky exhale, his body relaxing slightly. Dean hooks his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, trailing his fingers through the coarse hair and grabs Cas’ cock, skin against skin. It’s hot and dry, and Cas actually groans out loud, instantly thickening further in his hand. Dean starts jacking him off slowly, and it suddenly feels silly he’s got his hand on Cas’ dick but they aren’t even kissing, so he leans closer to find Cas’ mouth in the dark. It’s a little sloppy, but it seems Cas has the same idea and their lips crash against each other with little finesse, and Dean wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world. Cas’ hand moves up to his jaw, gently cupping his face, as they find a similar rhythm in between their kisses. Turns out, Cas is a meticulous and very thorough kisser, as if he’s trying to map every inch of Dean with his lips and find out what he likes. He still tastes of toothpaste; Dean can probably never wash his teeth without popping a boner from now on. 

He manages to focus on Cas’ erection, even if his mouth is very distracting, flicking his hand over the head of his cock and smearing the precum over the shaft to ease the chafing. Cas gasps in his mouth, and Dean speeds up his movement fractionally, catching every quiet moan the man spills with his lips, breathing very shallowly so he’ll not miss any of them. Cas’ hips start moving on their own, rutting against Dean’s hand, but he lets Dean keep exploring on his own pace. He finds out that Cas likes when he runs his fingers over his balls, and the spot underneath the head earns him a throaty moan. Their kisses become messier, until Cas is only able to shakily breathe against his lips, mouth open and pliant, and Dean steals light kisses while he jerks him off harder. He feels the tickle of the other man’s lashes on his cheek, when Cas’ eyes flutter open and closed, and he can’t do anything but lean their foreheads together and imagine what Cas looks like when he’s about to come. Suddenly Cas shudders, his whole body locking up and thrusting in Dean’s hand when he comes with a silent whimper, a sound that goes straight to Dean’s cock. Dean jerks him off slower, hand sticky and wet, until his cock softens and he pulls his hand out, careful not to smear the cum anywhere. Cas lets out a long exhale, relaxing back on the bed, still holding Dean’s face. He caresses his cheek with his thumb absentmindedly, trying to regain his breathing. Dean can do nothing but watch and listen to him, and the whole situation is slowly starting to sink in. He’s hard as a rock, but the doubts are crawling back into his thoughts, making it harder to stay in the moment. What the fuck did he just do? He had sex with Cas, he had sex with another man-

Cas leans in again, planting a soft, wet kiss on his lips, but Dean can’t reciprocate. “I guess it’s your turn”, he says, his voice darker and huskier than Dean has ever heard it. He plants his hand unerringly to Dean’s cock, feeling the outline of his erection through the damp boxers. Holy fuck. Okay. This is moving too fast and Dean needs time to think, he needs time to figure out what this means, before he lets Cas jerk him off and there’s no going back. 

“Cas, whoa, okay, wait a little-” he stumbles, grabbing Cas’ hand and removing it from his groin. Cas allows him, lifting his head in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, uh, it would just be…” Dean pauses, trying to find the right words. _What?_ He just needs to know they’re on the same page here, needs to what this means to Cas, because he couldn’t let him walk away from this like it didn’t mean anything. Fuck, he sounds like a fucking girl. Cas lets out a tiny huff.

“It would just be, what, gay? Is that the word you’re looking for?” There’s sharpness in his tone. _No, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go at all._ Apparently Dean hesitates for a second too long, because Cas sighs loudly, clearly frustrated, turning on his back away from Dean. The fear of rejection wrenches his gut suddenly. What if Cas doesn’t want him? What if he’s in it for a casual fuck?

“Why the fuck do I keep falling for the closeted ones?” Cas groans, running his hands through his hair. 

“I’m not gay”, Dean defends himself weakly, finally finding his voice again. It’s a knee jerk reaction, a weak attempt of plausible deniability, a way to maintain status quo in a situation that is quickly spiraling out of his control, but it does nothing but make Cas more angry.

“Oh really? Did that cum on your hand appear on its own then, too?” He snarks, leveling a glare at his direction. Dean has no answer for that. He feels small in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. Cas sits up abruptly, throwing the covers off him. “Fuck, Dean! I’ve been trying to keep up with your mood swings for the past month and you’ve been acting like an asshole for half of that time, but I can’t go through this again. I- I can’t deal with this right now.” He gets off the bed, probing around for the light switch. He finds it, and the bedroom fills with unnatural bright light that hurts Dean’s eyes. He hears Cas opening the zipper of his bag aggressively and the rustling sounds when starts dressing himself.

“What the fuck, Cas? You’re gonna leave? It’s the middle of the night!” Dean sits up, some anger bleeding through the painful clenching of his heart, bolstering him again because he needs those walls back up and fucking fast. Cas doesn’t look at him when he pulls his sweater on in rough movements, jaw clenched.

“I think you need some time to think about this”, he says in a tight voice. There’s a lump stuck in Dean’s throat, making it harder to breathe. 

“Fuck you Cas. I don’t need you looking down on me, so fuck you!” Dean fights to keep his voice steady, but it’s on the verge of breaking and he’s sure Cas can hear the hitch in his words too. But he doesn’t say anything, instead just grabbing his bag and leaves wordlessly, slamming the door behind him. Dean stays sitting in bed, still partially covered by the comforter, unseeing, curling around himself and limbs trembling. He won’t let the tears come, he won’t, he won’t, but there’s an awful burn in his eyes and he can’t breathe. He feels like suffocating.

x

It’s Monday evening and two days after Cas stormed out of the apartment. Sitting - or more like bonelessly slouching - on the couch, he stares at the TV, not even registering what he’s watching as a background noise, not an ounce of energy left in him. His head hurts like fuck. On the third call, he finally answers Sam, because he knows his brother won’t relent until he picks up the phone. There’s nothing unusual about them calling back and forth, they talk on the phone all the time, but three consecutive calls means Sam has sniffed something is up and he’s fucking stubborn about making Dean ‘fess up. 

“Hey”, he grunts as a greeting, trying not to sound like he has a huge hangover. 

“ _Hey buddy, how’re you doing_?” Sam asks in a falsely chipper tone. 

“Fine”, he says curtly, instantly annoyed by the kid gloves Sam’s handling him with. 

_“You sure?”_

“Okay, cut to the chase, what are you doing?” Sam clears his throat, unfazed by Dean’s grumpiness.

_“Bobby called me today. He told me you showed up to work so hungover he wasn’t sure you were still drunk. And the last time that happened when, you know, you broke up with Lisa, so…”_ He trails off, offering Dean some room to explain his side of things. He rolls his eyes, even though Sam can’t see it, but he knows his brother _knows._ He’s aware that Bobby and Sam stay in touch regularly, I mean why wouldn’t they, at times Bobby was more like a father to them than their own dad. But he knows Sam is keeping tabs on him too, behind his back, trusting Bobby to tell him things Dean won’t, especially on times when Dean feels worse. 

“Great, so he’s a fucking snitch now.” 

_“Dean, do we have to do this every time? He’s worried. I’m worried. You’re drinking like… a lot. Kind of like dad.”_

“So if I stop, will it take you off my case?” Dean pinches his nose in an attempt to ease the headache, regretting he answered his brother at all. He has a way of attacking problems straight on, which Dean has always admired, but to be on the receiving end of his “we’ll fix it together”-attitude sometimes feels like he’s being bulldozed by all the hard truths he doesn’t want to hear. Sure, he’s been drinking more than usual, but it’s a lot cheaper to drown himself in alcohol than to afford a shrink. 

_“Did something happen with Cas?”_ Dean blinks in surprise, taken off guard by the question.

“What do you mean? Have you talked to him?” He asks quickly, _too_ quickly. 

_“Well no, but judging by your reaction something happened.”_ Dean opens and closes his mouth, but he can’t summon the right words to keep Sam in the blind. 

“I…I think I messed it up”, he confesses quietly. Taking a steadying breath, he tries to think fast how much he can tell Sam, who naturally senses this over the phone, the merits of being a overly emphatic brother. They’ve never been overly open and sharing with each other, especially Dean, but sometimes it gets so heavy.

_“You know you can talk to me, right? About anything?”_ He prompts, and Dean closes his eyes, in midstep of crossing that final bridge. He knows he’s giving in, but still Dean fights it, fights the urge that says _protect yourself._ He stays quiet for a long time, looking for the right things to say and the right way to start this, but there isn’t any. It isn’t gonna be easy, and it’s fucking scary, but if there’s anybody he’s ever gonna to come out to, it’s Sam. Something deflates inside of him.

“Sam...I, uh, I think I’m in love with him.” And there it fucking is. The big, ugly truth right there in the open and now there’s no going back. Dean expects his heart to start beating faster and the panic swell inside of his chest, but the first time in weeks, his flight-or-fight-response isn’t kicking up. He’s in total control of his mind, and it almost feels liberating to finally say it out loud. 

_“Okay, that’s...great.”_ Sam sounds careful to choose his words, and not one bit surprised. Of course he isn’t, he’s the one who fucking called it before Dean had any inkling of what was going on in his own life. _“Did, uh, something happen between you two?”_

“Yeah, it kinda did. We fought and he left in the middle of night, haven’t spoken since. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want anything to do with me now”, Dean shrugs, voice devoid of any emotion. He’s not sure if he’s reached the point of bitter acceptance that this is his reality now. Either way, it doesn’t hurt so much if he just talks about it like he’s discussing the weather.

_“Hold on there, are you so sure about that?”_

“Sam, I’m damaged goods, why would he?” Dean scoffs mirthlessly. 

_“Look, I realise I’m not getting the full picture and you’re probably omitting a lot of important details here, but I saw the way you guys looked at each other. I’m pretty sure you were the last person in the room to figure out you’re in love with him. And Cas...he talks about you like you’re the most important thing in his life, man.”_ That makes Dean pause. His chest constricts painfully, what if it’s too late? He has to take a steadying breath, then another. 

“I don’t want to lose him”, he finally chokes out. 

_“I know you don’t. Look, I wish I was there to help you out, but I don’t know the right answers to this. Just talk to him. Make him listen.”_ Sam continues his pep talk for awhile, and Dean listens, breathing easing up little by little. Okay. He can do this. They keep talking until Sam is apparently satisfied that Dean is starting to sound like a decent human being again. 

_“Okay, I gotta go to sleep now. But Dean? I’m so proud to have you as my big brother. Go get him.”_

“Thanks, Sammy.” A small smile graces his lips for a heartbeat. He did good raising this one.

Dean waits until he’s sure Cas is asleep when he finally finds the courage to send the message.

**We need to talk.**

x

Oh god, this is such a bad idea. This has to be the worst idea Dean’s ever had. Cas is coming over, having not said much over text except to agree with him and asking whether he’s available today after work. Dean’s pacing in the apartment, palms damp and feeling like a caged animal, pretending he’s not glancing at the clock every ten minutes. He finally forces himself to sit on the couch, a half-drank beer bottle clutched in his hand like a lifeline. Too late he realises the mess in the living room, empty cans and bottles tellingly cluttered around the floor and table. He contemplates cleaning after himself, but he can’t concentrate. Whatever. It’s not like Cas hasn’t seen him be a human disaster before. The snap of a lock opening startles Dean, when Cas enters the apartment with his spare key. 

“Dean?” Cas calls from the door. Dean’s throat is dry. 

“Yeah”, he forces himself to answer, low current of panic thrumming in his core. He lifts his feet off the floor, sitting with his knees up and feet tucked underneath him, because he needs _something_ to keep him grounded here. Footsteps come closer and Cas stops when he enters the living room. They stare at each other wordlessly for a while, unmoving. Cas looks almost as terrible as he does, with dark circles under his eyes and a stubble so long it almost counts as a beard. There’s a pained expression in Cas’ eyes, and Dean braces himself for the worst, because that’s a 100% break-up look right there. 

“How are you?” Cas breaks the silence, fidgeting with his hands, when Dean doesn’t make any attempts at talking. Dean shrugs, raising his bottle in mockery of a salutation. 

“You know me. I always land on my feet.” Cas makes a wordless noise in the back of his throat, stepping closer carefully like he’s expecting Dean to hit with that thing. Dean sighs, tearing his eyes off Cas, fixing his eyes on a dirty spot on the cushion. “Okay, be out with it. No need to sugarcoat it, I think I can handle it”, he says quietly, defeated. Cas takes that as an invitation to sit next to him, the cushion dipping slightly. Dean keeps his eyes off him, stubbornly fixated on the stain like it’s responsible for this fucked-up fight.

“Dean, what- what do you think is happening here?” Cas sounds distressed, his voice frail like he’s fighting to keep all the emotions from bleeding out. 

“You can spare me the ‘it’s not you’-speech, I know I fucked up and I get if you don’t want nothing to do with me.” 

“What are you talking about? I’m here to apologise to you.” There’s bewilderment in Cas’ words, and Dean risks a glance at his direction, mind trying to catch up with this sudden turn. Cas looks at him, afraid, letting his words tumble out of his mouth in a hurry. “I’m so sorry for the way I reacted, it was completely out of line and awful to you, I think I was just so sleep-deprived and you were sending me a lot of mixed messages and I had _hoped_ for something like that so, um, I got frustrated. I know it was huge step for you, and I crossed a line there, shutting you down the way I did. I hope you can forgive me, because I can’t forgive myself over this.” Dean’s face must be frozen in a look of surprise and confusion, because no, he did not expect this. He expected blame and a big, ugly fight over this, and he expected to see Cas go. The breath he was holding escapes from his lips. 

“Cas, no- your anger wasn’t out of line, I know I’ve been acting completely mental around you and it was unfair to you, but I was just… so terrified of my feelings when I realised what was going on. Seeing you didn’t help at all and- and I was a fucking mess, so I just thought you finally were done with me.” Dean focuses on his hands, instead of Cas sitting right there, white-knuckling his forgotten bottle. He feels Cas’ heavy gaze on him. 

“Dean, what feelings?” 

“You gotta know what I’m talking about”, he mutters, blood rushing to his cheeks. 

“Please, humor me”, Cas says softly. He places his hand on Dean’s thigh, and suddenly the warm touch of his palm is all he can think about. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Cas- I think I’m in love with you.” He forces out, ignoring the slight shaking in his fingers. He hears Cas inhale sharply. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, I’m sorry. I know I’m someone who’s a fucking mess, and someone who you shouldn’t be with, but I can’t help it-”

“Dean.” Cas stops him and turns him around slightly. Dean allows it, completely dumbfounded, letting Cas guide him so they’re facing each other. Cas picks the bottle from Dean’s grip gently, placing it on the floor, turning his blue, soft eyes to him, binding him on the spot. He’s helpless to do anything, when Cas cups his jaw and leans in close to press a kiss on his lips. Stunned, he lets it happen. The chaste, close-mouthed kisses crack last of Dean’s defenses, and he slowly relaxes, as Cas deepens the kiss, fingers winding up in his hair, tugging him closer. Somehow he ends up on Cas’ lap, hands on his shoulders, bracketing him in with his thighs before he can think about this too much. He breaks the kiss reluctantly, skin tingling from the scratching of Cas’ beard, smiling nervously at Cas, who looks back with nothing short of reverence. 

“Is this really happening? Is there, you know, us, we-” he gestures between them, trying to encompass all of this, “-a real thing?” Mentally he’s cursing his eloquence, but he hopes Cas gets what he’s trying to ask. 

“Dean, I think you might be the love of my life”, Cas breathes out, and yeah, that gets Dean speechless. 

“Oh”, he says, blinking owlishly. 

“So yeah, if the offer is on table, I’d like to take you out on a real date. Maybe ask if you want to be my boyfriend if it goes really well. But right now, if you want it, I’d like to take off your clothes and have my way with you.” Cas’ tone darkens towards the end, and the loose grip he has of Dean’s hips, tightens slightly. 

“Yes, to all of that”, Dean mumbles, flushed, and he needs to shut Cas up like right now. He surges in, kissing the other man’s mouth, his jaw, dragging his teeth through the long stubble, enjoying the way Cas’ fingers seem to burn marks into his skin. He lets Dean pick the pace, hands experimentally roaming under the hem of Dean’s t-shirt, trailing the muscles of his back with feathery touches. Dean shivers, and he shyly pushes their hips together, feeling the swell of Cas’ jeans against his own hard-on. He gasps into Cas’ mouth, completely unprepared how it all feels, and he does it again, eliciting a small groan from Cas. Fuck, he’s been missing out on so much. The other man slides his hands on Dean’s flank, digging his fingers into the meat of his ass, encouraging him to grind their groins together, and Dean complies happily. He moves slowly on Cas’ lap, bodies flush against each other, tiny gasps filling the air as he’s trying to angle his hips to drag their erections together. Cas keeps looking at him with wide-blown pupils, grasping the hem of his shirt and pausing there, like he’s waiting for Dean’s permission. Dean nods, allows Cas to pull the shirt off and discard it somewhere. He stills under Cas’ appreciative gaze, suddenly feeling oddly insecure of himself. The other man picks up on the slight change of his composure, settling a steadying hand on Dean’s chest, drawing nonsensical figures on his sternum. 

“Are you nervous?” He asks, sounding a little out of breath. 

“No”, Dean lies through his teeth. 

“I am”, Cas confesses, gracefully ignoring Dean’s blatant bullshit. He trails his hand to Dean’s stomach, and he tries his best not to show how much it tickles. 

“Why? It’s not like this is your first time.”

“But it’s you. And I want to make it good for you.” Dean takes a steadying breath, but the shaky quality of his voice still betrays his nerves. 

“Well, then show me what you got, tiger.” Cas smiles and kisses him as a response, taking his sweet time to get Dean relaxed again. Then he presses gentle hands against him, urging Dean to lay back, his head against the arm of the couch, and it takes a bit of uncoordinated shuffling to get Cas situated on top of him without crushing Dean underneath. Dean spreads his legs to accommodate Cas between them, bringing their hips together. There’s a brief moment of _holy fuck, this is really happening_ , but Cas’ solid weight above him brings him back in the now really quick. Girls have topped him several times, but he’s never been held down by 170 pounds of pure muscle, and he’s finding out that he’s fucking _living_ for the experience. 

“What do you want?” Cas asks, inches from his face, lips hovering over his, but Dean keeps getting distracted by the hard press of his cock against his crotch. Cas quirks his eyebrow knowingly, grinding their hips together and Dean moans, tilting his hips to allow the friction between them bring some relief to his trapped erection. He bites his lip to keep the noises in, and it brings Cas’ laser-sharp focus to the tiny movement. 

“I, uh, whatever works”, he manages to say, too far gone already, not sure when was the last time he was this worked up over sex, even though they mostly have their clothes on. Cas grips his hip, halting his desperate writhing with an expression Dean’s never seen him wear; arousal mixed with absolute confidence, a look that tells him he’s ready to make Dean suffer a little. Cas leans in, planting a kiss underneath his jaw, moving lower to his collarbone, leaving a tiny mark there with his teeth. He slowly moves downward, giving some attention to his nipples, tracing a path to his stomach with his lips, which makes Dean inhale sharply. Each of his hip bones get some open-mouthed kisses, and Cas glances up, making sure that Dean’s still on board. Fuck yes he’s on board, sailor hat on and everything. Cas grins, but it’s more predatory than one of his usual happy grins that light his whole face up. 

“Not saying that the whole sweatpants-thing isn’t sexy, but I think these are in the way”, he says, smoothing his hands on Dean’s waistband, and begins to tug them downward with his underwear. Dean tries to help, and other than an almost accidental kick to Cas’ groin, they manage to get them off quite smoothly. Suddenly he feels really exposed, laying there naked like that, with no means to hide how hard he is, but before he can start to second-guess himself, Cas bends down again, licking the tip of his erection. Dean’s hips snap forward before he even realises it, cock twitching, but Cas presses him down again, firmly. Cas licks wet stripes along the shaft of the cock, mouthing his balls, and Dean’s pretty sure he’s gonna die any minute now. He groans, trying to get some air into his lungs, fingers winding in Cas’ dark hair, encouraging him. Cas sucks the tip into his mouth, easily lapping up all the precum gathered there, before he swallows Dean’s cock down his throat like an expert. There’s something too hot and incomprehensible to see Cas deepthroat him like he’s done this a thousand times, and his brain fries at the thought that behind the homely, soft exterior of this man, exists a pure sex god who’s hellbent on making Dean feel good. 

“Ohhhhh fuck Cas”, he moans, relishing in the way Cas’ tongue and mouth moves on his cock, alternating between swallowing him in his mouth and sealing his lips around him, or using that wicked tongue to lick the underside and the head of his cock, flattening it against his slit. He’s leaking freely now, but Cas is not deterred, letting Dean push his hips forward to chase his pleasure. Dean can feel his orgasm getting closer, and he’s really tempted to just come with Cas’ mouth on his cock, but he finds he’s somehow missing the other man’s weight on him. He tugs lightly on Cas’ hair, signaling him to stop, and Cas rises, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, looking slightly disgruntled from getting interrupted at his work. 

“Something on your mind?” 

“Yeah, I think I just figured out how gay I’m for you”, Dean mumbles, trying to ignore his throbbing erection for a second. He figures he’s finally past the point where it’s redundant to resort to the denial-phase again, with his best friend, _boyfriend?_ sucking his cock.

“Well, how fortunate.” 

“Shut up and come here”, Dean grumbles, pulling Cas towards him again, and he crawls over Dean’s body on all fours to kiss him roughly, strongly tasting of precum. Dean finds that he doesn’t mind that as much as he would’ve thought. He slides his hands down Cas’ back, attacking his sweater, undressing Cas hurriedly, and Cas seems to notice that he’s still wearing his jeans and opts to shove them down his legs, equally rushed. Finally naked, Dean revels in touching Cas’ shoulders, running his hands down his well-toned chest, until Cas leans down again, bringing their cocks together, and _oh god_ he’s just as hard as Dean is and it’s all too much. Neither of them have the restraint anymore to keep the appreciative groans from spilling their lips when they start moving slowly, and Cas leans their foreheads together, panting. Dean wraps his other leg around Cas, keeping him in place, thrusting his hips upward to meet Cas. Holding his upper body up with his forearms, Cas takes Dean’s hand into his and guides it between them, urging him to touch their cocks, and Dean fits them both in his hand, looking for the right angle because let’s face it, neither of them aren’t the smallest guys. He gets a steady rhythm going quickly, spurring Cas to move his hips more forcefully against Dean’s, and the heat and the friction between gets Dean closer to the edge faster than he could’ve imagined. He takes shuddering breaths against Cas’ lips, rubbing their cocks together swiftly, hand sticky with precum he’s not even sure whose it is, and seems like Cas isn’t faring any better. 

“Cas, ohh, I’m gonna-” he moans, breathless, cock pulsing and spilling in his hand a second later, his entire body shuddering and grinding against Cas, when the orgasm washes through him, the electric pleasure curling his toes. He keeps jerking both of them, because Cas is still hard and thrusting against him, until Dean’s cock gets soft and oversensitive. Cas is so close, Dean can tell by the way his breath hitches everytime Dean touches him just right, and he speeds up the movement of his hand, fingers sliding easily over the shaft, and _fuck_ there it is, that look of sweet rapture, as Cas groans filthily and comes hard, breath stuttering and fucking his hand through it. 

Cas collapses partially on top of him, not minding the mess on their stomachs, trying to regain his breath, panting into the nape of Dean’s neck. Dean adjusts his position to fit them on the narrow couch better, trying to free his other arm underneath Cas, so Cas settles on his side, completely lethargic. Kissing Cas’ hair, Dean holds him close, inhaling that familiar smell, and Cas throws his arm and leg over Dean, face buried in his neck. They stay like that for awhile, still riding that high and just existing for each other, skin against skin. 

“You still plan on taking me to that date?” Dean asks quietly after some time, and Cas raises his head, a content smile on his lips. 

“Several of them, I’m hoping. I need to seduce you thoroughly to make you become my boyfriend.” 

“You actually want that?” 

“Dean, what part of my confession of love did you miss? So yes, I’d like that.” The look in his eyes is too fond for someone who five minutes ago dominated Dean into oblivion. He swallows, heart constricting a little. 

“Me too.” Cas answers with his lips, pressing a gentle kiss on his mouth, before he settles back, breathing into Dean’s neck. 

“Can I ask you something?” Cas says, breath tickling his skin. Dean hums questioningly. “How long?” And Dean understands it at once. _How long have you been in love with me?_ He’s been going over it himself, trying to pinpoint the exact moment when it started, but it’s really hard, since there Cas was, vibrant from the start and there was always that pull to be near him, ever since he first locked eyes with him. 

“Truthfully, I think maybe it was the first time I saw you”, he says, because he has no other answer. 

x

Mostly, their relationship doesn’t change that much, they’re still hanging out, watching crappy movies, cooking (mostly Cas, Dean just provides unhelpful comments), going out, but the difference is that Dean gets to take Cas home and he doesn’t need to come up with any pretenses why they should share a bed. Dean’s shamelessly in love, with a stupid grin on his face every time he thinks about Cas, and spending time with him always makes him feel giddy. Some, smaller things require minor adjustments on his part, because sometimes Dean gets the urge to just touch and kiss Cas, and forgets he actually can do all of these things, after spending so much time just completely blocking all romantic thoughts of him. He keeps coming up with excuses to touch Cas, and the other man takes it all in a stride, ever understanding of Dean’s hesitation. The first and the only person Dean tells about them, is Sam, who dramatically sighs _finally_ into the speakers _,_ but tells he’s happy for them, and Sam’s approval eases something within him.

Dean still gets conscious of himself, when they’re in public spaces, subtly glancing around to see if anyone’s looking at them before he kisses Cas, and Cas _knows,_ but he’s graceful enough to let it slide, even though Dean sees the slight shift in his eyes, like he’s not one bit surprised, yet disappointed. Dean wishes so much he was past this point already, but there are some insistent voices in the back of his head, telling him he’s wrong and he’s nothing, and sometimes he can’t help but listen to them. One night they’re spooning in bed, Dean’s arms tightly wrapped around Cas, and he notices Cas is being restless and abnormally silent, so he carefully asks about it. 

“The last thing I want to do, is out you, but I feel like you’re keeping me under tight wraps, like you don’t want people to know about me. And I don’t want to be anyone’s dirty secret”, Cas says after some consideration, and Dean finally hears the story of the guy who broke Cas’ heart by being so deep in the closet he was practically spitting moth balls. He holds Cas through it, with apologies on his lips when he finishes, and tells Cas it’s mostly his father’s ghost that keeps haunting him, still holding him back. Cas understands, of course he does, and they don’t broach the subject again, but it stays with Dean.

It’s a Friday afternoon in February, and Dean’s at work as usual, in the middle of changing the tires, when Bobby calls out to him. 

“Dean, there’s man leaning against your car outside. You’re expecting a customer?” 

“No?” Dean says, confused, but he gets up and wipes the grease and the dirt off his hands absentmindedly on a stained rug, before he glances out of the large garage window, spotting Cas in his ever-present trench coat, hands in his pocket, watching something that’s out of Dean’s sight. Garth and Benny doesn’t pay any attention to them, chattering excitedly close-by about their weekend plans. Dean has no idea why Cas is here, but a wide grin spreads to his face all the same, just happy to see him. 

“Oh, that’s Cas, he’s my, uh…” Dean runs out of words, gesturing towards Cas vaguely. His face is suddenly burning up, _why am I such a fucking coward?_ Bobby saves him by clapping him on the shoulder briskly. 

“Son, I don’t care, just get out there. Looks like he’s waiting for you.” 

“Thanks, Bobby”, Dean mutters, thankful and embarrassed, pulling on his jacket over his work clothes to protect him against the chilly weather. Just as he’s opening the door, Bobby stops him.

“He good for you?” He nods towards Cas with an assessing look in his wary eyes. 

“Yeah, I think he is”, Dean can’t help the dopey grin, and he ducks his face bashfully to hide it, not missing the pleased grunt from the older man. He opens the door, walking towards Cas in long strides, who is waiting for him patiently, leaning against the driver’s door. They’re both smiling and it always reminds Dean of that night at the airport, where they were the only people that existed for each other, because it still feels like that every time he sees Cas. 

“Hey you”, he says, immediately greeting him with a long kiss, mindful of his stained hands, not caring if anyone’s watching them. Cas’ lips feel familiar, and they’re cold and chapped from the winter frost, but Dean doesn’t mind. When they break apart, Cas looks at him with a delighted, surprised twinkle in his eyes, and the pleased smile he gets in return is just enough to build back a tiny sliver of his confidence to be who he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it. Not a native speaker here, so if you catch any mistakes or weird sentences, let me know :) thanks for reading and following my story, feedback is always appreciated!


End file.
